


screenshot of youth

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Series: screenshot of youth [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, the long island marriott is practically its own character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: It’s definitely flirting, is the first thing Mat realizes, and not, like, Tito-flirting. It’s obvious flirting, drunk and clumsy and so, so dumb, because if Mat was just a straight teammate, this could end very poorly for Tito.But Mat’s not a straight teammate. He also hasn’t been flirted with in a while.(Or: two boys, too many hotel rooms, and not enough conversation.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> If you want more information about this pairing, here's a [primer](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/post/171646742484/barzy-and-beau-a-primer) that might be helpful!
> 
> This story wouldn't exist without Twitter, and everyone who's here to love Mat and Tito like I do. Thanks to Ash and Ali for cheerleading this when it was 12k of feelings, porn, and confusion, and then coming back for more; thanks to Susie for lending this her eyes; thanks to Aimee and Tots/ET for the bit of French translation; thanks to Rachel for catching a million small mistakes, down to the quotation marks; and thanks to Ang for reading this when it was 99% done and being the best kind of beta reader, and for being the person who brought this pairing into my life.
> 
> So, this is a lot of words about boys who don't know how to use their words. Story warnings in the endnotes, and really, just. Thank you.

Mat’s always liked Tito. A lot.

Tito’s got a sense of humor that hits the edge of snarky, but doesn’t quite match it. It’s nice, an unapologetic, easygoing kind of humor, and, like, Tito’s an unapologetic, easygoing kind of guy. He likes Mat a lot, too; they’ve known each other for years, and it’s always been a good, simple kind of thing, except right now, Tito’s definitely flirting with him, which is new, and still pretty good, but definitely not simple.

It’s not even flirting, really. He’s checking Mat out, for sure, but, like, Mat had gotten his first NHL goal, and Tito hadn’t been in the lineup today, but he’s still out celebrating with the rest of them, because they’re friends, and they, like, support each other. This is Mat’s night, and he’s had a lot to drink, enough that he’s looked over at Tito more than he would sober, and Tito’s been looking back every time.

It’s probably dangerous.

The thing is, Mat’s had a decent start to his season because he’s avoided bad choices, and Tito’s always been safe, for him. He really doesn’t want to mess that up, just because Tito’s maybe-flirting. Really, it’s probably just Tito. He flirts a lot, almost without meaning to, because he just has the kind of face that always looks like it’s flirting: an easy, winning smile, wide, shining eyes, a way of chirping that’s not quite mean. And granted, the looks he’s giving Mat aren’t exactly that type of flirting, but it could also be—something else. Alcohol, curiosity, or, like, anything besides flirting, because Mat’s known Tito for a while, and he’s never given an indication that he’s into guys, let alone into Mat.

“Hey,” Tito says, interrupting Mat’s train of thought as he sits next to him. “Can’t believe I caught you alone.”

“Oh,” Mat says, and looks around the bar. The first wave of teammates to turn in has already left, and there are still a few guys lingering back, but it feels emptier now than it had an hour ago, when Mat was still tossing back shots, and just starting to come to terms with the fact that he’d lost count of how much he’d had to drink. “I guess it kind of cleared out.”

“It’s so much quieter,” Tito says.

“That’s how it goes, I guess,” Mat says. “The first goal party is officially over.”

“It’s not over as long as you’re still drinking,” Tito says.

Mat dramatically finishes off his beer, which was mostly empty anyway, but it earns him an amused look from Tito. “I should probably turn in.”

“Not gonna keep going all night?” Tito says.

“We have practice,” Mat says.

Tito laughs. “You’re so responsible,” he says, and then he leans into Mat, a little, and rests a hand on his forearm.

It’s definitely flirting, is the first thing Mat realizes, and not, like, Tito-flirting. It’s obvious flirting, drunk and clumsy and so, so dumb, because if Mat was just a straight teammate, this could end very poorly for Tito.

But Mat’s not a straight teammate. He also hasn’t been flirted with in a while.

“I’ll let loose when I’ve got more than one goal under my belt,” Mat says, and he considers nudging Tito off, but doesn’t.

“It was a good goal,” Tito says, dropping his voice, like he’s letting Mat in on a secret. “A great one.”

Mat doesn’t bother to hide his smile. “Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes to remember the rush of relief and pride and happiness. “God, yeah.”

“If that was my first goal, I wouldn’t be responsible,” Tito says, almost matter-of-fact.

“I don’t wanna be hungover,” Mat says. “It’s self-preservation.”

“Suit yourself,” Tito says, and then he leans away, and Mat doesn’t know why he does it, but he just—he reaches out to grab him, only belatedly realizing that Tito touching him less is a good thing, except for the part where Mat had been enjoying the warmth of their sides pressed together.

Mat doesn’t really know what to say, though, and now Tito’s looking at him with a face that Mat probably couldn’t decipher sober, let alone this drunk, so he just shrugs. “Are you heading out?”

Tito stares at him for a beat longer. “That depends.”

“On what?” Mat asks.

“You,” Tito says, and Mat can’t help but stare at his mouth as he says it.

“Since when do you follow my lead?” Mat asks.

One corner of Tito’s mouth turns up. “Don’t be dumb, Mathew.”

Mat lets his eyes fall shut for a second, because the world is spinning, a little bit, but then he opens them and Tito is still there, still looking at him.

Mat’s not sure when this conversation got so loaded.

“We can split the cab back,” Tito adds, which doesn’t make much sense logistically, but Mat likes the sound of it.

***

A part of Mat had been hoping that the drive back to Long Island would be long enough that he’d sober up enough to talk himself out of this, but by the time he’s stumbling into the parking lot of the hotel, the only thing he can think about is Tito’s hands, and Tito’s knee pressed against his, and Tito’s laugh, and just—Tito.

“You don’t live here,” Mat says as Tito climbs out of the cab, but he offers him a hand anyway.

“I did,” Tito says. “Long enough to know that you shouldn’t be alone here after your first goal.”

“What does that mean?” Mat asks, smirking.

“It means that this place is super depressing,” Tito says.

“So that’s why you’re here,” Mat says. “To make sure I don’t get sad.”

“No,” Tito says, kind of giggling, and suddenly he’s standing way too close, and Mat’s not sure if it’s intentional or not, but it’s definitely a lot, and Mat’s breath kind of catches, because they’re here, and this is _happening._

“Dude,” Mat says, “What’re you—”

“That was a really good goal,” Tito says, cutting him off, and Mat realizes that Tito still hasn’t let go of his hand when his grip tightens.

“Tito,” Mat says, trying to sound serious, but it mostly just comes out low, and a little breathless.

“A beautiful goal,” Tito says, and he sounds almost distracted.

“Thanks,” Mat says.

Tito shrugs, but doesn’t say anything, just puts a hand on Mat’s chest and stares at it, and Mat really hopes he can’t feel how fast his heart is beating right now.

After what feels like forever, Mat says, “What’s happening, here?”

“What do you mean?” Tito asks, looking up, and his eyes are so fucking wide.

“We’re outside,” Mat says.

Tito does this nervous half-smile. “Observant.”

“You’re—”

“There’s no one around,” Tito says.

“Okay,” Mat says.

“So,” Tito says, and Mat’s entire brain turns to static.

“Why are you here, Tito?” he asks, and his voice sounds distant, but he watches Tito’s face, watches his eyes as they flicker down to Mat’s mouth and back up, watches his cheeks go red, watches the way he licks his lips.

“I—” Tito starts, but he barely manages to get that out, because pretty soon he’s pressing his mouth against Mat’s, and Mat kisses him back before he can even think about it.

Mat’s first thought it that it’s fast, and warm, and good. They’re both drunk, so it’s sloppy, but it’s also loose and insistent in a way Mat hasn’t experienced in a long time.

His second thought is that it’s a bad, bad idea, but that thought is out of his head as soon as Tito’s tongue works its way into his mouth. His hand is on Mat’s face, and their bodies are pressed together, and Mat wants to run his hands up and down Tito’s back, but they’re practically in public, and whatever’s left of Mat’s self-preservation is starting to kick in, so he refrains.

“We’re outside,” Mat says between kisses.

“We’re alone,” Tito murmurs, and Mat can feel his breath against his lips.

“Still,” Mat says. “I have a room.”

“I don’t wanna stop,” Tito says, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“It’ll be for, like, five minutes,” Mat says.

Tito makes a disgruntled sound.

“Less than five minutes.”

“There’s no one here,” Tito says, and he leans in to kiss him again, but Mat backs away.

“Inside,” Mat says, firm.

They’re both breathing heavily, and Mat watches as Tito pushes his glasses up, then lets his fingers linger on his lips for a second before he puts his hand down and nods.

“Inside,” Tito agrees, and after a second, they start to make their way into the hotel.

Mat shoves his hands into his pockets as they walk across the lobby, because if he doesn’t, they’re going to end up on Tito. There’s only one other person there, the usual late night concierge, and Tito waves at him as they walk past him. Mat gives him a nod and walks even faster to the elevator, because he really wants to be alone with Tito, like, yesterday.

He presses the button and waits, doesn’t realize he’s tapping his hand against his thigh until Tito grabs it.

“Stop,” Tito says.

Mat stares at Tito’s face, which had seemed so close before they’d kissed, but now they have kissed, and all of a sudden it’s way too far, even though the distance between them is, objectively, a normal, reasonable amount of space. He thinks that he should let go of Tito’s hand, except he can’t, or he doesn’t want to, or something. Either way, he just adjusts his grip so that it’s not just Tito squeezing his fingers, but them actually holding hands, which is an awful idea, maybe, except for the way Tito seems to relax into it.

His other hand twitches, still stuffed in his pocket, but Mat holds back, doesn’t let himself touch Tito any more than this.

 _Hold off,_ he thinks, because telling himself to be patient is easier than telling himself to end this, because at this point, that’s not happening, not when he can hear Tito’s breath, can see the way his lips are kind of red.

Mat doesn’t think he’s ever waited this long for an elevator to come before.

Tito moves a bit closer, and it’s a tiny enough motion that no one who isn’t them would even notice, but Mat’s so aware of Tito’s presence that it feels a little bit agonizing. There are voices in the lobby now, laughing ones, and Mat thinks that he should really let go of Tito now, except there’s no one near the elevator bank, so he figures they can hold off.

Mat turns to look at Tito, which is a mistake, because he can’t look away. He should be alert, should be paying attention to the fact that they’re in an open space that anyone could walk into, but Tito’s eyes are right there. He can hear the laughter getting closer, and they’re definitely about to go upstairs—because, duh, it’s not like they’re going to hang out in a hotel lobby after midnight—but Mat’s almost frozen, too captivated to be even remotely responsible.

Finally, the elevator arrives, and the doors aren’t even all the way open before Mat’s yanking Tito inside, pressing his floor, then hitting the “Close Door” button over and over as fast as he can, until the doors finally start to close.

Tito leans up against him, and Mat starts to move their mouths together, but Tito puts a finger up. “Wait.”

Mat doesn’t even question it, just breathes, and after a beat, he realizes Tito is waiting for the doors to close fully, and Mat can hear footsteps rounding the corner and walking into the elevator bank, and he literally prays that they don’t notice and ask them to hold the door.

Apparently, someone up there has Mat’s back, or he’s just plain lucky, because they’re alone when the doors close.

They’re on each other pretty much immediately, and Mat can feel all the anticipation in the way Tito kisses him. He puts his hands on Tito’s waist, on his back, underneath his shirt, and god, just getting to touch him feels so _good,_ like Tito’s skin was made to be touched by Mat’s fingertips. Tito’s so eager, too, gripping at Mat like he’s afraid Mat’s going to drift away if he doesn’t hold him in place, which is so dumb, because Mat can’t even begin to imagine cutting this off.

The thing is—like, yeah, maybe, on some level, this is a bad choice, but it feels like the right one, because they both want this. It’s a risk, because of the whole part where they’re both guys, but Mat’s hooked up with guys discreetly in the past, and they’re gonna be in his room soon, so really, the only risk right now is the fact that this is Tito, and Tito’s always been safe. Like, this might be reckless, but it’s not dangerous, and that’s an important distinction, right now. If this was dangerous, Mat wouldn’t be on board with it, and Mat is on board.

 _Really_ on board.

And so is Tito, if the way he’s pressed up against Mat is any indication.

Mat nudges a leg between Tito’s, and Tito grinds against it, makes this groaning noise that might be the best sound Mat’s ever heard. He stops kissing him so he can hold him even closer, and Tito starts to kiss his neck.

“Fuck,” Mat says, and he can feel Tito smile against his skin as the elevator doors open.

They don’t waste any time making their way to Mat’s room, and Mat only has to look at Tito for a second to see how much of a mess he is. His clothes are rumpled, and the bottom part of his face is red from beard burn, and Mat has to look away quickly, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to press Tito up against a wall and kiss him, right there in the hallway.

He manages to hold off, though, and it’s so worth it, because soon enough, Tito’s slamming the door to his hotel room, and his hands are working under Mat’s shirt.

“Can you—” Tito says, yanking at the hem, and Mat gets the message and pulls it over his head, then gets to work on the buttons of Tito’s shirt.

“Is this okay?” Mat asks.

“Yeah,” Tito says, automatic, like he didn’t even hear what Mat said.

“You sure?” Mat says, and he stops what he’s doing and looks at Tito.

It takes Tito a second to respond, and it’s a loaded moment, all of a sudden, like the reality of what’s happening is really sinking in, and Mat’s worried that it’ll kill the mood, for a second, but, like, if this is gonna kill the mood, then that means they should stop.

“Yeah,” Tito finally says. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

There’s something in his voice that’s not quite hesitation, but it’s close enough to it that Mat doesn’t want to push things any farther, so when he kisses Tito again, he goes slow, lets Tito navigate them to the bed, and doesn’t finish unbuttoning Tito’s shirt until Tito starts to do it himself.

***

Mat wakes up the next morning incredibly hungover, and very confused by it.

Usually, Mat goes to great lengths to avoid hangovers. He’ll drink coconut water if it means he won’t have to deal with a pounding headache the morning after a night of drinking, which says a lot, because coconut water tastes gross, but he definitely didn’t drink anything even remotely resembling an electrolyte last night, if his current state is anything to go by.

He takes stock of himself, tries to think back to last night. There had been celebratory shots, and more shots, and then beer, and then Tito—

Tito.

Mat’s heart rate picks up, which isn’t fun, because he already feels a little bit like he’s going to puke. He looks over to the other side of the bed, and, yeah, there’s Tito, still very much asleep. He’s angled toward Mat, and his mouth is open, and he’s only half under the covers, so Mat can see his arms and most of his back—which is a lot for Mat to deal with, right now—but also that he’s wearing boxers, which is good, because Mat doesn’t remember seeing Tito without boxers, so at least he didn’t black out.

Small blessings, Mat figures.

Still, last night had been—a lot. There was kissing, and touching, and Mat distinctly remembers Tito’s mouth on his neck and thinking that it was gonna leave a mark. He grabs his phone off the nightstand—it’s disgustingly early, apparently—opens the front facing camera, and sure enough, he can see a huge hickey on his neck. More accurately, there are a few hickeys, one big one that he probably won’t be able to cover up with a t-shirt, and then a few smaller ones on his collarbone, plus a couple on the other side, too.

“Jesus,” he mumbles under his breath, touching them lightly as he examines them, and then he looks over at Tito, who had apparently gone to town on him last night.

Mat kind of wishes he didn’t feel so pleased at that thought.

He has a few more hours before he has to get up, but he doesn’t think he’s gonna fall back asleep any time soon, so he climbs out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom, and he thinks he sees Tito rustle as he closes the door, but he doesn’t let himself check, just gets in the shower and turns on the water. He hears movement in the room as he stands under the showerhead and wills himself to feel a little less like a zombie, and then the door to the hotel room opens and closes.

Mat’s stomach drops, a little, but he takes a deep breath and reminds himself that last night with Tito was an anomaly, that it was barely even a hookup, that Tito has to go back to his place and get ready for practice.

Sure enough, there’s no sign of Tito when Mat steps out of the shower, save for his phone on the nightstand. Mat briefly considers trying to return it to him, but he’s not sure how to do that without raising questions about why he has Tito’s phone in the first place, and anyway, if Tito had been in such a rush to leave that he forgot his phone, that’s not Mat’s fault, so he figures Tito can ask for it when he wants it back.

***

Mat really doesn’t want to be angry about this, because if he’s angry, that means he’s hurt, which means he’d expected Tito to stick around, and he hadn’t. He doesn’t even know what would’ve happened if Tito had stayed—probably a lot of awkwardness and avoiding eye contact that would’ve made Mat feel even worse—but still, it feels rude, and objectively, Mat has the right to be offended.

Tito arrives on the later side of on-time, once Mat’s already changed, and Mat pointedly doesn’t look up from where he’s lacing his skates when he hears his laughter across the locker room.

In his defense, Tito doesn’t say hi to him, either.

Thankfully, they don’t have any reason to talk during practice, so it doesn’t look like they’re ignoring each other. And Mat’s not even sure they are—it’s not like he talks to Tito and only Tito every day. There are plenty of other guys on the team, and anyway, Mat has hockey to focus on.

At least, that’s what he tells himself, until he’s stripping off his gear to head into the shower, and Ebs says, “Jesus christ, Barzy, what’s on your neck?”

“Wh—” Mat starts, but then he realizes what Ebs is talking about and slaps a hand to his neck, even though he knows it’s not gonna cover the whole thing. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Is that a hickey?” Ebs says, smirking.

“I said don’t worry about it,” Mat says.

“Aw, you’re blushing,” Ebs coos. “No need to be embarrassed, kid.”

“What’s he embarrassed about?” Lee asks, walking up to them, and Mat groans.

“Well, Barzy here either burnt himself with a curling iron, or he scored more than once last night,” Ebs says.

“I hate you,” Mat says bluntly, but Ebs is unphased by his glare.

“Wait, rookie’s got a hickey?” Lee says, trying to examine Mat’s neck, because apparently no one on this team has any concept of privacy. “That’s so cute.”

“Bite me,” Mat says.

“I think someone else already took care of that,” Lee says. “So, did you make out under the bleachers?”

“Did you get to second base?” Ebs says. “Tell me more, tell me more.”

“You’re not funny,” Mat says, because it’s true, and normally he’s pretty good-natured about chirps, but thinking about last night is kind of the last thing he wants to do, and actually talking about it is very much out of the question.

“Doesn’t kiss and tell,” Ebs says.

Mat knows it’s not reasonable that he’s feeling so fucking angry about this, but hearing that kind of makes him want to punch something. He can’t really do much about that, though, so instead of, like, blowing up, he just turns around and makes his way toward the shower, forcing himself to roll his eyes and pretend he’s a normal amount of irritated.

He pointedly doesn’t check to see if Tito noticed any of that.

***

Mat hangs around Northwell for a while, trying to blow off steam and avoid going back to his hotel room, because it really is a shitty place to spend time, especially on a sunny day when he would usually be trying to make plans. It sucks, because he doesn’t want to be alone, really, but he also doesn’t want to spend time with any of his teammates, and doesn’t have anyone else he can really talk to.

Honestly, Mat really misses Dante. Not that Dante is particularly far, even, but he’s not close enough that Mat can just call him up to see if he wants to play video games or watch a movie or whatever. Mat loves the guys on the team, but there’s something to be said about old friends, too, even the ones you don’t talk to nearly as much as you used to. But the Fabbros are still family friends, which means that Mat and Dante always pick up wherever they left off. Like, he’s not the person who knows Mat the best, but they always know where they stand with each other, and Mat appreciates people like that.

Tito’s kind of like that, except not really, anymore, because Mat has no fucking clue what Tito’s thinking. Hell, Mat has no fucking clue what _he’s_ thinking, because all of his weird, vague feelings of discomfort can all be traced back to various forms of confusion.

So. Mat spends a large portion of his afternoon on the elliptical.

He’s pretty resigned to an afternoon of solitude by the time he’s walking into the lobby of the hotel, and he’s wondering if it’s late enough in the afternoon that the pool will be empty, but all those plans go out the window when he sees Tito.

Mat sort of freezes, but Tito doesn’t look up from the iPad in his lap. He’s got his glasses on, which is really not fair, especially combined with the short-sleeved button-up shirt he’s wearing, that should look kind of geeky, but instead just makes him look like a nerd with the biceps of a professional athlete.

Mat’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, because he’s not exactly dying to talk to Tito, but he also doesn’t want to ignore him if he’s right here in the lobby. If things weren’t weird, then Mat would definitely go up and say hi, and if he doesn’t, then he’s confirming that things are weird. He doesn’t really know what the right choice is, but he still does have Tito’s phone on him—

And that’s probably the reason Tito’s here.

That hurts, for some reason, even though Mat doesn’t know why else Tito would be here. It’s not like he was hoping for something else, except maybe some clarity, and Mat really doubts he’s gonna get any of that out of a hotel lobby conversation with Tito. That will probably come with time and space and, like, actually confronting the whole situation, which Mat is definitely not doing right now.

Mat walks over, less nervous now that he knows that they’re not gonna talk about anything, and before he gets there, Tito looks up. Mat’s too far away to read his face, but he doesn’t wave or say anything, so Mat just gives him a nod, which Tito returns.

“Hey,” Mat says, putting his bag in the chair next to Tito’s and rifling through it. “I have your phone, sorry, forgot to mention it at practice.”

“Oh, sweet,” Tito says, and his voice sounds kind of off. “Thanks.”

Mat doesn’t say anything, just shrugs and continues looking through his bag, and he’s not sure if he’s coming across as cold or awkward or what, but he doesn’t really know how to hold a normal conversation, right now.

“Here it is,” Mat says, pulling it out of the bag.

“Awesome,” Tito says. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” Mat says, holding out the phone.

Tito moves to take it, which should be normal, except their fingertips touch, and it’s the most cliche thing in the world, where it feels like his skin is tingling just because of Tito, and Mat hates it, but it’s the only way to describe it. For a second, he feels so fucking dumb, except Tito kind of gulps, which gets Mat’s heart doing all sorts of shit it shouldn’t be doing, so Mat yanks his hand away, probably a little too forcefully, but Tito doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Did I—” Tito says, staring at Mat’s neck, and Mat turns his head slightly, awkwardly shrugging his bag higher onto his shoulder. “I mean, I also wanted to—about last night—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Mat says quickly, pretending to adjust the strap on his bag so he’s not just, like, staring at his feet.

Tito responds, after a beat, and his voice is a little too soft. “Okay.”

“I mean—I’m good if you’re good, but we don’t—like, it’s chill.”

“Right,” Tito says.

Mat waits for him to say more, but nothing comes. “So, uh, you’re good?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tito says. “Sorry, just—sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Mat says.

“So we’re just—you’re not mad?”

“No,” Mat says, caught off-guard. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know,” Mat says. “Just—it’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Good,” Tito says, looking about as relieved as Mat feels, which is not at all.

“Awesome,” Mat says. “I’m just gonna—” He gestures in the direction of the elevators.

“Right,” Tito says, standing up. “Alright, yeah.”

“I’ll see you around,” Mat says, giving him a small wave, and then he turns around and walks away.

He can feel Tito’s eyes on him as he makes his way towards the elevator, but he wills himself not to think about it, just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, breathing in and breathing out.

There’s a moment where he realizes that the last time he was in his room, his sheets had still smelled like Tito, and his breathing starts to get short, but then he remembers that housekeeping is a thing. Small perks of living in a hotel, Mat figures.

***

So things don’t exactly feel normal, which, duh.

It doesn’t really matter, though; no one notices anything is off, and they win against the Sharks at home. Mat even gets a point, too, which feels really fucking good. He gets a few more chirps for the hickey, but the guys get bored once he shrugs them off.

They have two days off before their next game, and it’s at home, against Arizona, and, like, Mat knows he shouldn’t write them off—being on a historical losing streak probably means they’re hungry for a win, and they have Kells up, even if Merks and Stromer are stuck in Tucson—but still, it feels nice to win two in a row, and it’s nice to feel like he’s finally starting to produce. Things are clicking, aside from the whole Tito thing, which makes it that much easier to forget about the whole Tito thing until they’re all out after the game.

It’s at one of their usual places in Brooklyn, and everyone’s in a pretty decent mood, but it’s still a pretty low-key kind of celebration, light and jovial and easy, which is why it catches Mat off-guard when Tito practically stumbles into the men’s room as he’s washing his hands.

He ignores him, at first, but then Tito says, “Barz?”

Mat turns off the faucet and starts to grab some towels. “Hey.”

“Mathew,” he says, his accent more pronounced than usual. “Why can’t you talk to me without moving your hands anymore?”

“I don’t—” Mat stops drying his hands and pointedly throws out his towel, haphazardly wiping his hands on his jeans. “I don’t know, I’m a fidgety person, I guess.”

Tito shakes his head. “Not until yesterday.”

Mat crosses his arms and glances up at the ceiling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Things are weird,” Tito says, and then he pouts, which is a little cute, but mostly irritating. “I don’t like it.”

“Okay, well, we can—I don’t know.” Mat shrugs. “We can talk about it, if you want.”

Tito frowns. “I never said I wanted to talk about it.”

“Well, do you?” Mat asks.

“I mean—I don’t know,” Tito says.

“If you don’t know what you want—”

“I know what I want,” Tito says.

“You just said you didn’t,” Mat says, impatient.

“I said I didn’t know if I want to talk,” Tito says. “I know I want—”

“Tito,” Mat says, cutting him off.

“I thought you said we could talk about it,” Tito says.

“I didn’t mean here,” Mat says.

“But—” Tito starts, but he’s cut off by the bathroom door opening.

Mat walks out, Tito close behind him, and Mat feels weirdly guilty, which is absurd, because it’s not like they’d been doing anything wrong. A part of him wants to go back to the guys and pretend like nothing happened, but there’s something about the way Tito’s staring at him, all intent and hopeful and scared, that makes Mat think ignoring this isn’t the smart move right now.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Mat says, and Tito nods, then follows him out of the bar.

***

New York City works in clumps, Mat’s learned, and sometimes it’s weird, but it’s also pretty useful, how one block can make you believe that this city literally never sleeps, while the next one over feels almost like a ghost town as soon as the sun sets. There are so many people here, and a part of Mat thinks it should be impossible to walk for twenty minutes and not pass anyone, but once Mat and Tito cross the street, things feel private, and there’s a lot of space that Mat doesn’t really know how to fill, so he waits for Tito to speak first.

“You made us go inside last time,” Tito says.

“What?”

“When it happened,” Tito says. “You made us go inside.”

“I didn’t want people to see,” Mat says.

“Still,” Tito says. “It’s funny.”

“Haha,” Mat says dryly.

Tito shrugs, then bites his lip. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Okay,” Mat says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Have you been thinking about it,” Tito says.

Mat looks at his feet. “A little, yeah.”

“A little,” Tito echoes.

“I mean, every time I look in a mirror,” Mat says, scratching at the back of his neck. The bruise is fading, now, sooner than he thought it would, and he hates the part of him that wishes it wasn’t.

“Sorry about that,” Tito says, wincing.

Mat cracks a smile. “There are worse things.”

“That’s why I thought you were mad at me,” Tito says. “I heard Ebs giving you shit.”

“Ebs always gives me shit,” Mat says.

“Fair enough,” Tito says.

Mat glances over at him. “Is that really the only reason you thought I’d be mad?”

“I don’t—” Tito rubs a hand over his face. “I mean, I don’t know.” There’s a second where neither of them says anything, and then, “I thought this would be easier drunk.”

“Sorry,” Mat says. “I mean, I’m not mad, for what it’s worth.”

“Neither am I,” Tito says. “I mean, you didn’t ask, but—I’m not.”

“Good to know,” Mat says.

Tito nods. “Cool.”

“So we’re… good,” Mat says. “For real, this time.”

“Sure,” Tito says.

Mat doesn’t, like, audibly sigh, but it’s a near-thing. “Dude.”

“Sorry,” Tito says. “I just—I don’t know. I still feel weird about it.”

“Well, maybe things will just feel weird for a little,” Mat says.

“Maybe,” Tito says. “Can I, like, touch your neck?”

“Uh—”

“Just the mark,” Tito says. “Just—please?”

“Why?” Mat asks.

“Because I want to,” Tito says, and then he shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry, that was so weird—”

“How drunk are you, dude?” Mat asks.

“I don’t know,” Tito says, putting his face in his hands. “Drunk enough to say that out loud.”

“You should probably have some coffee, then,” Mat says. “Or maybe just sleep it off. Definitely have some water first.”

“I know how to be drunk, Barz,” Tito says, and then he pulls out his phone. “I’m gonna call an Uber before I say anything else.”

“Alright,” Mat says.

“Alright,” Tito repeats, and that’s that.

***

For the next few days, nothing happens.

Things aren’t exactly easy with Tito, but they have a mutual understanding, like they’re both waiting for enough time to pass before things feel normal again. It’s kind of like progress, and it’s a bit frustrating, but it also feels hopeful, like closure is visible on the horizon.

It’s fine. They have two days of practice and win their next game, and by the time they’re flying out to Minnesota, things feel almost steady, and almost good.

Which is when it all turns to shit.

If Mat’s first NHL goal felt like he was flying, the second one is like being shot down, a last ditch effort with a second left in the game, and he doesn’t even bother to celebrate afterwards. It’s a frustrating loss, the kind that throws everyone off, and it gets to Mat more than it should, probably.

And on top of it all, things with Tito are, like. Two steps forward, one step back, all of a sudden.

Rooming together is weird. Mat had known this, and he’d brought a backup pair of headphones with him because he’d known this, but still, turning his music all the way up doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the glances Tito keeps throwing his way. Granted, Mat’s not wearing a shirt right now, because he never does around the room, but still, that hadn’t been an issue when they’d roomed here last night. It’s not like Tito’s being particularly subtle about it, either—Mat’s not sure if he’s trying to get him to notice, or if he just isn’t good at hiding it, but either way, it’s grating.

“What?” Mat snaps, and his anger is probably not warranted, but he’s in a mood.

Tito just shrugs, not even offended. “You played well tonight.”

“Okay?”

“Just wanted to let you know,” Tito says.

“Uh,” Mat says, kind of confused. “Thank you?”

“That was a sick goal.”

“Some good it did,” Mat says.

Tito smirks. “Come on, loosen up.”

Mat hates that Tito’s definitely trying to piss him off, and he hates that he has the audacity to check him out while he’s doing it. “Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not being a dick, you should feel good about that,” Tito says, and then he tilts his head, his expression turning thoughtful. “It was hot.”

What Mat really hates about this, he realizes, is that Tito gets to be all smooth and flirty while Mat is two seconds from blowing his lid.

“What are you doing,” Mat says flatly, refusing to be caught off-guard.

“I’m just saying—”

“Tito,” Mat says.

Tito has the decency to blush and look away, at least, which means he’s not as composed as he’s pretending to be. “I mean. It’s true.”

There’s a part of Mat that wants to tell him to quit it, to stop fucking with Mat’s head and let this whole fucking thing between them pass, but Mat doesn’t want to pick a fight, and he doesn’t have the energy to handle this maturely, so he goes with his gut, and what ends up coming out is, “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Tito’s eyes go wide, which pleases Mat immensely. “I didn’t think that far ahead.” He’s caught off guard, which means the ball is in Mat’s court, so Mat rolls with it.

“Really,” Mat says, raising an eyebrow at Tito and giving him a small smile. “No ideas at all?”

“I mean—what are you suggesting?”

Mat shrugs. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Mathew.”

“Anthony,” Mat says. “What do you want?”

Tito bites his lip, then gets up off his bed and walks over to Mat’s. He sits on the edge of the bed, right by Mat’s feet, then looks at Mat like he wants confirmation. Mat nods, and Tito puts a hand on his ankle, almost experimental.

“Yeah?” Tito asks.

Mat rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am if you are,” Mat says, because it’s true, and because he wants Tito to be the one to come to him. That’s important to Mat, for some reason.

Tito just stares at him for a moment, and when he realizes that Mat’s not going to move, he climbs onto the bed, crawls until his knees are between Mat’s legs, and runs a hand down Mat’s bicep. He leans in a bit, and Mat thinks that they’re finally going to do this, but he stops short of Mat’s lips, like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed to kiss him.

Mat doesn’t bother with words, just grabs the back of his head, pulls him in, and hopes Tito gets the message.

Apparently he does, because it goes from 0 to 60 really fucking fast, and honestly, Mat’s glad. He’s worked up, he’s frustrated, and he’s impatient, so it’s good that Tito’s on the same wavelength. He’s kissing like he can’t stop, frantic and desperate, and Mat’s really into that; like, maybe it’s narcissistic to get off on someone wanting you, but it’s also kind of the whole point. Plus, it just—it feels good, the weight of Tito on top of him, the way his hands are squeezing Mat’s hips, the sound he makes when Mat pulls him even closer.

Mat puts his hands on Tito’s waist, and he’s not exactly trying to get Tito to take his shirt off, but he doesn’t complain when he does, just pulls Tito in again, and god, Tito’s skin feels so hot against his, and it’s so fucking close that for a second, Mat’s not sure where he ends and Tito begins.

Tito tugs at Mat’s shoulder, and Mat just kind of goes with it. They’re both wearing sweats, and Mat realizes he hasn’t taken off his baseball cap, but it hasn’t gotten in the way so far, so he figures he can leave it on. He slots a thigh between Tito’s legs, and Tito grinds against him. He’s hard, and Mat can feel it, and it’s kind of shameless, the way Tito moans and tilts his head back, and—it’s a lot, in a really great kind of way, and Mat’s overwhelmed, for a second, before it hits him just how fucking good this is.

“Someone’s eager,” Mat says, then grabs Tito’s dick through his pants. He feels him twitch, and they both shiver at that.

“Your fucking _goal,”_ Tito says, his voice strained.

“Are you seriously that hot for my hockey?” Mat says, then teases at the elastic of Tito’s sweats. Tito bucks his hips up, probably trying to get Mat to touch him, but it backfires, mostly because the whine that comes out of Tito’s mouth when Mat moves his hand a little higher on his stomach is pretty incredible.

“Your hockey is seriously just that hot,” Tito says.

“Really,” Mat says, sitting back and resting his hand on the front of Tito’s pants.

“If I say yes, will you, like, actually touch me?” Tito asks.

“I mean, I will eventually,” Mat says. “Tell me what you like about my game, though.”

“You’re too cocky for someone who’s only got two goals,” Tito says.

“You’re the one who got off to my two goals,” Mat says.

“Only the first one, so far,” Tito says. “Come on, man.”

“Wait, did you actually?” Mat smiles, surprised and a little delighted.

Tito turns his head and looks vaguely embarrassed. “Can we talk about this later?”

“No, let’s talk about it now,” Mat says, and then he pulls Tito’s pants down, nudging Tito’s hips up so he can pull them off entirely.

“I didn’t actually watch your highlights,” Tito says, as Mat climbs back on top of him, and he gasps when Mat puts a hand on his dick. “I just—I thought about it.”

“When?” Mat asks, and he starts to jerk Tito off slowly, leans forward and kisses Tito’s neck, and it’s really—it’s absurd, how perfect Tito’s reactions are, the way he arches his hips just right and makes the most beautiful breathy noise right in Mat’s ear.

“When I was—yeah, like that,” Tito says, when Mat speeds up his hand. “Fuck, yeah. Uh, when I was—fuck—like, towards the end.”

“You mean right before you—”

“Yeah,” Tito says, panting. “Sorry if that’s—”

“No, it’s cool,” Mat says. “Holy fuck, Tito.”

“What?” Tito gasps out.

“Just—” Mat doesn’t really know where he’s going with that, honestly, so he stops talking, and starts to leave a trail of kisses down Tito’s body.

“What’re you—” Tito starts, but he cuts himself off when Mat puts his mouth on his dick. “Oh my _fuck,_ Barz—”

Mat pulls off. “This okay?”

“Yes, please, just—keep going,” Tito says, squeezing his eyes shut, and Mat gets to work.

Like, Mat knows he gives good head, because he tries to be good at everything he does, and he’s always gotten positive feedback, but it’s never been quite like this. The last few guys Mat sucked off had been specific about what they wanted, and Mat had gotten the job done, and he’d done it well, but Tito seems content to let Mat do whatever he wants. He just lies back and focuses on the feeling of Mat’s mouth, and he’s, like, squirmy, which is kind of inconvenient, but also really hot, because he just keeps saying “yes” and “fuck” and “Mat” like they’re the only words he knows, and it just—it feels like he’s not even sure what to do with himself, he wants Mat so much, and so he just lets himself kind of fall apart, and it’s not what Mat’s used to, but he likes it.

The thing is, Mat’s used to these things going a certain way. He’s used to guys who know what the deal is, and know how to keep a secret, and know exactly what they want, and there’s something to be said for not having to beat around the bush, but then Mat looks up at Tito’s face, sees him bite his lip and ball his fist in the sheets as he lets out a whimper, and he thinks there’s also something to be said for this. It feels like something new, even though Mat’s given plenty of blowjobs before, but this doesn’t really feel like something he’s good at. Or, like, it doesn’t feel like a skill he’s mastered, is a better way of putting it, because right now Tito is clearly enjoying this so much, so Mat knows he’s doing it right, even if it feels sloppy and inexpert.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt vulnerable like this before, and it would be terrifying, except Tito’s even more exposed than Mat is, and Mat draws some courage from that.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Tito says, and Mat starts jerking him hard and fast, until he comes with a groan a few seconds later, slowly moving his hips up and down as he finishes in Mat’s mouth, until he’s finally done.

Mat pulls off him, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and there’s a second where he considers heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth, which is probably the sanitary option, but then he looks at Tito’s face. His eyes are still closed, and he hasn’t quite managed to catch his breath yet, and Mat knows that it’s just, like, post-orgasm relaxation, or whatever, but it feels a little like a glow. Suddenly, the hotel room sheets feel more comfortable, and the tile of the bathroom floor seems so cold compared to the warmth of Tito’s body, and Mat doesn’t want to leave this, quite yet, so he crawls until his head is on the pillow next to Tito’s and turns onto his side. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch him, so he doesn’t, just watches as Tito’s breath slowly returns to normal and waits, until finally Tito tilts his head and looks at Mat, his eyes unsure and a little expectant.

“Your goal tonight was pretty good too,” Mat says.

Tito just stares at him for a second, and Mat works very hard to keep his expression neutral, but thankfully, Tito breaks pretty quickly, looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head, smiling way too wide.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, getting out of the bed.

“You’re _welcome,”_ Mat retorts, as he rolls onto his stomach into the space Tito had just been occupying, watching with a probably-dumb grin on his face as he slips his sweats back on.

Tito gives Mat a look, like he’s trying very halfheartedly to seem exasperated when he’s mostly just fond and amused. “Thanks,” he says, then steals the hat right off Mat’s head and puts it on.

“You’re such a dick,” Mat says, but Tito’s already walking into the bathroom.

Mat lies there for a bit, and he’s, like, weirdly carefree, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. It’s hard to feel stressed right now, though, so he figures he can deal with the complicated stuff later. He uses the bathroom as soon as Tito’s done, and he’s gonna just brush his teeth, at first, but he’s had a long day, and he’s kind of tired, so he commits to getting ready for bed, and when he walks back out to the room, Tito’s in his bed.

He’s a little surprised, but in the good kind of way.

“I was gonna go to sleep,” he says.

“Oh,” Tito says, then looks at Mat, like he’s waiting for Mat to say something else. To tell him to leave, Mat realizes.

“Yeah,” Mat says. “Is it cool if I turn off the lights?”

“Go for it,” Tito says.

It’s not until Mat crawls under the covers that he seems to accept that Mat is legitimately down to share a bed tonight, and he takes off his glasses and Mat’s hat and lies down, and Mat’s sort of in the mood to cuddle—which is rare, but not, like, unheard of—but he’s not sure if he wants to be the one to initiate that. Still, he can feel Tito’s fingertips resting gently on the back of his hand, and their toes are touching, and the bed is warm from Tito, and smells like Tito, so Mat’s pretty happy with things the way they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **coming up in ch. 2** (alt title: _feelings, and the development/avoidance thereof_ )  
> -just guys bein dudes  
> -jordan eberle's texting shorthand, revealed


	2. Chapter 2

The next day on the plane, Mat feels restless.

It’s because he’s sitting next to Ebs, and he feels bad about that, because it’s not Ebs’ fault. Ebs is his friend, even if he is kind of a dick, and they always sit next to each other. It’s always made sense for him to sit next to Ebs, because he and Ebs get along well, and it’s phenomenally cool that he’s actual friends with Jordan fucking Eberle now, except—

He wants to sit next to Tito.

It makes absolutely no sense. He just spent an entire night with Tito, and he’s about to spend another entire night with Tito, and Tito’s sitting across the aisle and a few rows down, so there’s no reason it should feel like he misses Tito, except he does.

His eyes keep wandering over to the back of his head, trying to figure out if he’s laughing at a movie he’s watching or something Anders said, secretly hoping it’s the former. It’s not like Mat’s jealous, because he has no reason to be. Anders can be funny sometimes, but he’s not as funny as Mat, and anyway, there’s no reason Tito can’t find the both of them funny, especially since Mat’s pretty sure Tito also thinks Mat’s funnier, except—

Mat’s a little jealous.

He kind of hates it, though, and all of this is making it hard to focus on whatever Ebs is saying, so it takes him by surprise when Ebs nudges him and says, “Earth to Barz?”

“What?” Mat says, trying not to look too startled, but Ebs isn’t having it.

“You’re being all space cadet today,” Ebs says. “It’s weird.”

“Fuck you,” Mat says, trying to sound dismissive, but it comes out kind of harsh.

Ebs puts his hands up, defensive. “Just wanted to know if everything was cool, man.”

“I’m fine,” Mat says, and he can hear how unconvincing it sounds.  

“Okay,” Ebs says, and then he pulls out his phone, types something in a note, and hands it to Mat.

_is there sumthing up w/ u n beau_

Mat frowns, and almost responds out loud, but he thinks better of it.

_no?????????_ he types, and then he hands the phone back.

Ebs shrugs, then types again.

_idk uve been weird around him 4 a few weeks_

Mat’s about to take the phone from him and type again, but he’s interrupted by the feeling of his hat being stolen off his head, and turns around to see Tito fixing it on his head, not looking back at him, like he’s the kind of person who can pull off shit like that.

It takes Mat a second to realize he’s smiling, and another to realize his stomach is doing something really fucking weird, but not in a bad way.

He turns back around, letting a bit of the fondness seep into his voice. “He’s such an asshole.”

“Whatever you say, kid,” Ebs says.

Mat uses his phone this time. _see? nothing weird._

Ebs doesn’t take the phone from his hand, just glances at the screen before giving Mat a thumbs up, and he seems thoroughly satisfied, which is good, because it means that came across as normal, and not—or, like, not that it wasn’t normal, platonic stuff, on Tito’s end, and not that Mat’s feeling anything besides normal, platonic things combined with the fact that they had incredible sex last night, but still. He can’t pinpoint exactly what suspicions that could have raised, but it doesn’t matter, because it hadn’t raised any.

A few minutes later, Tito ruffles Mat’s hair as he’s walking back to his seat.

“If you like that hat so much, I can tell you where I got it,” Mat says in French, ducking, and Tito rests his hand on the seatback, which is nice, because he’s kind of… touching Mat, or at least his hair, and Mat can feel the warmth of his fingertips.

“I never said I liked it,” Tito says, with a truly shit-eating grin, and there’s a spark in his eye that Mat kind of wants to see more of, except he doesn’t have time for that right now.

Later, though.

“So you keep stealing it just to fuck with me?”

“You don’t exactly mind,” Tito says, and Mat’s, like, 80% sure he leans in a little, which Mat is super on-board with.

“I very much mind,” Mat says, probably smiling too wide to be convincing, but it’s not like Tito’s any better. There’s a brief second where Mat wonders if they’re being too obvious—not that there’s anything to be obvious about—but he figures it’s okay as long as they’re speaking in French.

“Sure,” Tito says, then walks back to his seat, giving Mat the stupidest and most awesome smile he’s ever seen.

Mat stares at him for a second, then takes a breath and wills his cheeks to to stop being so red, tries to remember when that happened. He glances over at Jordan, who’s not even giving him a weird look, and Jordan gives him weird looks pretty often, so Mat figures he’s in the clear and settles in for the rest of the flight.

***

It’s kind of ridiculous, how quickly they get their hands on each other as soon as they get to the hotel room.

“We have a game tomorrow,” Mat says, but it’s mostly into Tito’s mouth, so he’s pretty sure his argument isn’t standing too strong.

“What, you think it’s bad luck?” Tito laughs.

“I don’t want us to be tired,” Mat says.

“Since when are you so boring?” Tito says. “We’re not gonna wear ourselves out with this.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mat says, and then Tito rubs the front of Mat’s pants, and Mat moans.

“Then how about you sit back and let me do the work this time?” Tito says, and Mat rolls his eyes and pretends that’s not one of the hottest things anyone’s ever said to him.

“Jesus christ, what are you?” Mat says, but he lets Tito push him on the bed as he starts undoing Mat’s belt.

“Is that a no?” Tito asks, and he pauses with his thumbs tucked in Mat’s belt loops.

Mat grunts, impatient, then pushes at Tito’s hands. “Obviously not,” he says, and Tito laughs some more, but takes off his pants nonetheless.

So, Tito jerks him off in a hotel room in Nashville, and Mat returns the favor in the shower afterward, and when they win their game the next day, a part of Mat’s brain—the same part of Mat’s brain that tells him to not step on cracks in the sidewalk or walk under ladders—tells him that this is a sign. And, like, Mat’s not ashamed to admit that he’s superstitious enough that he doesn’t step on cracks or walk under ladders, and things have gone alright for him so far, so he figures there’s gotta be something to it.

At the very least, Mat wants to keep doing this, and so does Tito, and maybe Mat’s oversimplifying things, but he thinks that’s probably a good enough reason to keep doing it.

***

On some level, you might assume that Mat and Tito would spend more time in Mat’s hotel room than Tito’s apartment, because Tito has a roommate and Mat doesn’t, but the reality is that Mat’s staying in what he’s pretty sure is the world’s most depressing hotel, and he will take any excuse to spend a night away from it.

So, he ends up spending a bunch of nights at Tito’s place.

It’s not for sex reasons. They’re still bros, which means they hang out and do normal bro stuff, like video games and watching TV and other things that don’t involve either of them being naked. Quiner’s around often enough that they don’t actually do anything at Tito’s place, and Mat’s fine with that, because he gets enough of Tito on the road, and it’s grounding, to spend some time just being friends. Not that they’re anything more than friends—like, sex friends, but still just friends.

But then Mat scores 5 points in one game, which is just surreal, and it feels like destiny when, in the middle of celebrating the outcome of a truly bizarre game, Tito lets Mat know that he’s got the apartment to himself tonight, if he wants to come over.

They don’t talk about it in more detail than that, really, just mutually agree to start saying their goodbyes politely but efficiently, because this is rare. Mat has had a lot of sex in hotel rooms, which, in theory, sounds kind of cool, but in reality, Mat’s spent way too much time in hotels to find anything appealing about them. Sex in Tito’s bedroom sounds like a luxury, at this point. Spending any time at all in an actual bedroom sounds like a luxury to Mat, honestly, because he’s pretty much lived out of hotels for the past two months, and he’s kind of craving something that feels like a home.

It’s strange being in an Uber that stops in an actual, lived-in neighborhood, but it’s kind of cool, like the fact that he can just spend money on cabs to take him to an actual home is somehow exciting. It’s nice, not having to worry about train times or bus times or designated drivers because he can afford the luxury of a rideshare, and it feels a little more permanent when the car in question is taking him to a house. Like, the hotel feels like a stopping point, but this is somewhere Mat spends a lot of time, and it’s where Tito lives. Maybe it’s dumb, that this is the thing that makes him realize this isn’t some crazy pipe dream, but all of a sudden it hits Mat that this is his _life._ He’s making NHL money, and he’s playing in the NHL, and he just had a 5 point night, which, like—there had been a mid-game trade, but Mat’s name is gonna be right there in the headlines too, because he’d just played that well.

It’s overwhelming, and it’s amazing, and holy fuck, this is Mat’s _life._

This is his life, and he just spent a cab ride with his hand on his really hot, really nice, and really cute best friend’s knee.

Mat isn’t the kind of guy who lets himself get caught up in the fact that he’s living his dream, but still, he takes a moment, as Tito’s tugging him to the front door of the condo, to let himself bask in it.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really good at hockey?” Tito says, and Mat’s feeling playful, so he puts his hands on Tito’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder as he fumbles with the key.

“You,” Mat says, massaging Tito’s sides. “All the time.”

“Well, good,” Tito says, pushing the door open, and Mat follows him inside. “Because you’re really—”

Mat cuts him off with a kiss as he slams the door shut, because right now, he needs less banter and more of Tito’s lips on his.

Tito grunts in surprise, but kisses back, smiling enough that Mat can feel it, but not enough that they have to stop kissing, which is, like, the perfect kind of smile. He tangles his hand in Mat’s hair and pulls him closer, and Mat goes with it, probably embarrassingly easily, but whatever. He’s over the “playing it cool” phase of his life, and he’s never really been like that around Tito, anyway. Tito’s open, and bubbly, but it’s a chill kind of bubbly, like he doesn’t have to pretend to be cool, and Mat’s always liked that about him.

He grins, and then he can’t stop grinning, probably because he’s drunk. It gets Tito giggling, which doesn’t help Mat’s dumb, uncontrollable smile, and this is—it’s messy, in a way Mat usually tries to avoid, because he hadn’t thought messy could be good, but he was wrong—so, so wrong—because this is fucking great. All they’re doing is kissing, which is quickly turning into just giggling against each other’s mouths, but Mat’s starting to feel a little lightheaded, this giddy and amazing kind of thing that he’s only ever felt in flashes before.

“Are you laughing at me?” Mat says, still grinning.

“You started it,” Tito says, and Mat—he doesn’t know why he does it, but he gives up on trying to get their mouths to fit together for the time being and pulls Tito in for a hug, and when Tito tucks his face into Mat’s shoulder, he can feel his smile.

Mat presses a kiss to his hair, which is maybe a step too far, but Tito doesn’t mind, so Mat keeps kissing down the side of his face until they’re making out again, a little calmer, but it feels more purposeful, this time. They make their way to the bedroom, and there’s urgency to it, but they’re not really rushing. They’ve only done this a handful of times, but it already feels comfortable, and right now, they have all the time in the world, or at least it feels like they do.

Making out in Tito’s bed is different from making out in hotel beds. For one, Tito’s room is a mess, with clothing strewn everywhere and a pile of laundry sitting next to a full hamper, and Mat’s pretty sure he’s never made this bed in his life. The sheets are bunched up at the bottom, and there’s a laptop sitting on the pillow that they have to move out of the way, and one of Tito’s sweatshirts is lying on the pillow.

It also just—it’s so much Tito here, which, duh, it’s his bedroom, but still. It smells like him, Mat realizes, and it’s weird to realize he knows what Tito smells like, but it’s less weird to realize that he likes it. Mat likes most things about Tito, honestly.

“Five assists,” Tito says, his breath hot against Mat’s skin. “Fuck.” He starts kissing Mat’s neck, which Mat is totally on board with, until he feels the scrape of teeth.

“Hey, uh—” Mat says, and Tito stops, looks up at him with his ridiculously blue eyes, and it takes Mat a second to remember what he was gonna say. “No marks.”

Tito pouts, a little. “Fine,” he says, and he goes back to kissing. Mat relaxes into it, gets a little lost in the way Tito’s mouth feels on him, and it’s not until his shirt is unbuttoned and Tito’s mouth is hovering around the waistband of his pants that Mat opens his eyes again.

“I want to try something,” Tito says, as he undoes Mat’s belt.

“What?” Mat says, kind of breathless.

“I want to—” he tugs at Mat’s belt loops. “Can I?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Mat says, and when he moves to the end of the bed to kick his pants off, Tito gets to his knees on the ground in front of him, then looks up at Mat, his eyes wide and hopeful. It’s kind of intoxicating, and Mat’s kind of dizzy, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s just—he’s so _into_ this, the way Tito’s mouth looks with his lips parted slightly, the way Tito’s hands feel warm on his thighs, and the way Tito’s face is all pleading and full of want.

Then, Tito’s mouth is on Mat’s dick, and Mat’s entire world zeroes in on the feeling of it.

It’s only for a second, but it’s wet and warm and amazing, and Mat’s eyes are still open, so he can see the way Tito’s lips look spread around his dick. It’s obscene, and borderline unfair, how good he looks, and Mat lets out a groan that’d be embarrassing if he could bring himself to care.

“Was that okay?” Tito asks, pulling his mouth off, and Mat thinks he’s teasing for a second, but when he looks at his face, he sees that he isn’t.

“Holy fuck, yes,” Mat says, and then he moans when Tito does the same thing again.

“I’ve never—” he says, stroking Mat with his hand. “I mean, that was the first time I—with my mouth.”

“Oh,” Mat says, kind of breathless. “You don’t have to—”

“No, I want to,” Tito says. “Just—let me know what’s good, yeah?”

“Sure,” Mat says, and when Tito leans forward to take him in his mouth for a third time, Mat makes sure to let him know exactly how good it feels.

And like—okay, objectively, it’s not a good blowjob, but it’s also pretty incredible. Tito can’t really keep a steady pace going, so he mostly uses his hand, but it still feels so fucking good. The image of Tito on his knees alone is enough to turn Mat on, and what he lacks in skill he makes up for in sheer enthusiasm. It’s sloppy, but it’s fun, and Tito keeps it up for an impressively long time, until he finally pulls off, out of breath.

His lips are red and swollen, and he’s staring at Mat’s dick as he jerks him off, and it’s not quite as fast or as tight as it had been before, but then he bites his lip and squeezes just a little bit, and suddenly, Mat’s, like, right on the edge of an orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Mat says, throwing his head back, and he can feel Tito put his mouth on him right as he starts to come.

He’s surprised, and weirdly disappointed, because he’d kind of wanted to keep going, but then he looks at Tito and sees a drop of come at the corner of his mouth, and he figures the trade-off was worth it just for that. It’s impressive, honestly, the fact that Tito had managed to get an orgasm out of his first blowjob, and the fact that he’d looked borderline pornographic the entire time, even though he wasn’t even trying to. Mat feels weirdly exposed right now, which might have something to do with the fact that he’s wearing much less clothing than Tito is, but Tito isn’t exactly the picture of composure as he wipes his mouth. It’s strange, the feeling of being so vulnerable combined with the rush of knowing Tito’s feeling the same way, and it’s not exactly bad, but it’s definitely a lot, and the moment lingers, both of them catching their breath and kind of staring at each other.

Something flickers through Mat’s brain, a feeling of _oh my god_ that feels like the start of a realization, and before it can go anywhere, Mat reels it in.

“Yo,” he says, still breathless. “Nice.”

“Thanks,” Tito says, and Mat still kind of feels like his world is tilting on its axis, so before he can think too much about it, he pulls Tito in for a kiss.  

He’s not really sure why, because the first thing he can taste is his own come, which is maybe a little sexy, but mostly gross. He just doesn’t really know what to say right now, can’t fall into their usual style of post-orgasm banter easily, so he doesn’t bother trying. Instead, he tries to ignore the taste and focus on Tito instead, which isn’t all that difficult, because Tito’s definitely into this, and Mat can feel that he’s hard.

In the handful of times they’ve done this, it’s always been one of them getting the other off and then cleaning up, and Mat’s not really sure why—it might be some unspoken barrier, the difference between lending a friend a hand and actually hooking up. It’s a dumb, artificial boundary to draw, but Mat’s not really sure what Tito thinks is going on here. There’s a pretty big chance that Tito’s never done anything with guys before, hasn’t thought about what he likes and why he likes it, hasn’t even fully grasped that he’s probably not straight. And it’s not like he’s the image of repression—he’s got no shortage of nice things to say about Mat’s body—but he still jokingly flirts with guys on Instagram while thirst-following models.

Not that Mat’s paying close attention to who Tito follows on Instagram, but.

Anyway, the point is, they haven’t talked about this at all, and Mat’s kind of been letting Tito set the pace for things, but apparently, Tito is on board with Mat getting him off right now, so Mat keeps kissing him as he begins to take his clothes off.

They both end up totally naked, because they can, and Tito straddles Mat’s lap as Mat jerks him off. They’re kissing, and because they’re in Tito’s room and not on the road, they have actual lube to work with, which means Tito can fuck Mat’s fist, which is way hotter than Mat would expect it to be, and when he’s close, he grips at Mat’s back, holds him close as he pants into his ear.

He comes all over Mat’s stomach and chest, which, in hindsight, was kind of bound to happen, but Mat hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Tito goes slack against Mat, and Mat finds himself supporting most of Tito’s weight, which is a little inconvenient, but not uncomfortable.

“Thanks,” Tito says, after a second, and he climbs out of Mat’s lap and flops down on the bed, lying on his side, his head resting on his arm.

“No problem,” Mat says, standing up, and he examines the mess on his torso. “Can I, uh, have a towel or something?”

“There’s one over there,” Tito says, lazily pointing with his foot toward the corner of the room.

Mat walks over and picks it up, skeptical. “Is this, like, clean?”

“You want a clean towel?” Tito asks, raising his eyebrows, which is a fair point, so Mat shrugs and wipes himself down. He’s probably gonna have to shower to get it off completely, but he’s tired, all of a sudden, which probably has something to do with the fact that Tito looks all sleepy and soft as he pulls his blanket up.

“Is it cool if I crash here?” Mat asks, climbing into the bed.

“Duh,” Tito says. “I’m not making you go back to a hotel after scoring five points.”

Mat slides under the covers, figuring it’s as good an invitation as any, and he’s about to ask if he should turn off the lights when Tito rolls over, reaches across him, and yanks the cord of the lamp on the nightstand.

“Night,” Tito says, and it’s too dark for Mat to see his face clearly, but he thinks he registers a moment of hesitation on it before Tito rests his head on Mat’s chest.

His first thought is that Tito’s head is really fucking heavy, but then it clicks that Tito’s, like, cuddling him, which isn’t something they usually do. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Tito’s a little tense, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do this, so Mat says “Hold up, just—” as he frees the arm trapped under Tito’s body and wraps it over his shoulders, squeezing a little bit as he does. He can feel Tito relax against him, and he smiles, this small, private thing, because this is really, really nice.

“Night,” Mat says, and lets his thumb rub small circles on Tito’s arm.

***

They’re not cuddling the next morning when Mat wakes up, but their legs are tangled together, and Tito’s sleeping face is very close to Mat’s.

Mat blinks. It’s early, he can tell, because the light shining into the room is cool and quiet, but he doesn’t check the time, because he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him.

The room had seemed cluttered and messy last night, but with the dark blue blanket pushed down to their waists and the light streaming in, it feels more still, more open, and the white of the sheets almost glows, leaving Tito in something of a silhouette. Mat can still make out every detail of his face, though; the way his eyelashes look long against his cheeks, the way his mouth is relaxed and very slightly open, the way his stubble is just starting to approach unkempt, the way his hair is falling on his forehead.

Mat has to stop himself from reaching out to brush it away.

Tito must have gotten up at some point, because he’s wearing clothing now, while Mat’s still very much naked. He can feel the fabric of Tito’s boxers on his thigh, and he can see the rumpled white fabric of the shirt falling gently to cover most of the skin of Tito’s torso, leaving his collarbone and the top of his chest exposed, like something out of a movie, and Mat’s stomach does something complicated when he realizes that it’s his shirt.

And that means—Mat doesn’t really know, honestly, and he wants to say it doesn’t mean anything, but all he can think about is Tito waking up just before sunrise, grabbing a shirt off the floor, and putting it on, even though it’s Mat’s. Or maybe he even put it on _because_ it’s Mat’s, except that’s an idea Mat is definitely not allowed to explore.

But still. Tito is wearing Mat’s shirt, looking like the image of morning-after bliss, and Mat isn’t prepared for this, isn’t even awake enough to process his own heartbeat, let alone process the way Tito’s chest moves as he takes slow, steady breaths.

Mat nudges him.

“Hm?” Tito says, not opening his eyes.

“I should go back to my place before practice,” Mat whispers. It’s probably a copout to have this conversation while Tito is asleep, but he needs to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Okay,” Tito grumbles, then rolls over, and Mat tries not to be offended as he climbs out of bed. It’s not like he wanted Tito to sleepily protest, because he has a feeling he doesn’t have the resolve to resist him this early in the morning, but still, it stings.

Mat steals a nondescript and probably gross white t-shirt from Tito and gets dressed as quietly as possible, takes an extra second to make sure he has his phone, and he’s almost in the clear and about to head out the door when he hears a voice say, “Mat?”

He turns around to find Tito looking at him, his brow pinched in the middle.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Mat says.

“You’re leaving?” Tito asks.

“Yeah,” Mat says. “I just told you I was.”

“I guess,” Tito says.

Mat stares at him for a second, waiting for Tito to say something else, and when he doesn’t, Mat says, “Uh, see you later.”

“Yeah,” Tito says, his expression unchanged.

“Bye.” Mat waves awkwardly.

Tito turns on his back and closes his eyes again. “I’m keeping the shirt,” he mutters, and then, presumably, falls back asleep.

Mat smiles, half out of fondness, half in relief, and then he leaves, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as he makes his way down the hall.

***

Mat has never wondered how someone dedicated to making smart, mature choices can end up scrubbing dried jizz off their chest in a hotel bathroom before 7AM on a Monday morning, but he’s certainly thinking about it now.

He tries to look back on every decision he’s made that lead him to this point, because he’s pretty sure he didn’t do anything to earn being this level of disastrous. Like, maybe starting things up with Tito was a mistake, and maybe he should have showered before going to sleep last night, but still, he feels like the exact kind of rookie disaster he’s tried to avoid turning into. It’s unfair, honestly, but this is his life now, so it’s up to him to figure out how to not end up here ever again.

So, he calls Dante, because Dante’s in college, so he probably sees plenty of disastrous people, and at the very least, he won’t judge Mat for being a total mess.

“‘sup?” Dante says, answering the phone.

“Hey,” Mat says. “How’s Boston?”

“It’s NCAA, whatever. Didn’t you get five literal NHL points, like, yesterday?” Dante asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Mat says.

“Talk about that,” Dante says. “College is boring, we lost our last game, and I didn’t get my reading done for class.”

“What class?”

“Mathew.”

“What? I haven’t read a book since graduation, I miss it.”

“No, you don’t,” Dante says. “Why are you calling, man?”

“Just wanted to catch up,” Mat says.

“At ass-o’-clock on a Monday? Nah,” Dante says. “Are you out of music to listen to something? Am I, like, your walk of shame entertainment?”

“What? No, I took a cab,” Mat says. “I’m back at the hotel.”

“Are you guys on the road?”

“No, the Long Island hotel,” Mat says.

“Wait, you’re still there?” Dante says. “Dude, I don’t think they’re sending you down any time soon.”

“Okay, well, I don’t know, I don’t have time to find a place to live,” Mat says.

“Where do the other guys on the team live?” Dante asks. “Ask if there’s space in their apartment buildings, or something.”

“I’m not gonna get my own place,” Mat says.

“Well, any other new guys need a roommate?” Dante asks.

“I don’t think so,” Mat says. “Maybe one of the older guys has a guest room or something, I don’t know.”

“That could be a pretty sweet deal,” Dante says. “They might not like you staying out til sunrise, though.”

“That’s probably true,” Mat says, and it’s also probably not a bad thing. “Speaking of staying out, how trashed did you get after you guys lost?”

“Firstly, fuck you,” Dante says. “And secondly, it’s been two days and I’m still hungover.”

Mat laughs, listens to Dante complain about his readings, and his professors, and some RA—not his—who apparently hates all hockey players, and by the time they hang up, Mat’s feeling a bit better about hitting what he’s pretty sure is rookie rock-bottom.

He’s also pretty sure he needs to move out of this hotel, which, in retrospect, no shit, but still, he decides that he’s actually going to do something about it before their next roadie, so even though he doesn’t think about how he left Tito lying in bed this morning, and doesn’t think about how he has no idea how to start to figure out whether that was a good idea or an awful one, he feels like he has a productive morning.

***

Mat’s last night at the Marriott comes later that week, because once Mat decides to do something, it’s hard for him to relax until it’s done. He talks to his parents, and Ebs, and Tito, and even John about it, and eventually decides that Seids is the best guy to ask about rooming with, because he’s got a nice gym, a big basement, and a family, so there’s always someone cooking dinner. At the very least, Mat’s just one more mouth to feed, and apparently Seids’ kids think Mat is the shit, so it works out well.

“Aw,” Tito says, when Mat tells him about it as they walk into their room in Dallas. “Do they call you Uncle Mat?”

Mat cracks a smile at that. “Nah,” he says. “They bug me to hang out all the time, though. It’s pretty cute.”

“Not annoying?” Tito says.

Mat shrugs. “I mean, sometimes? But they’re good kids. I wanted to live with, like, a family, y’know?”

“Why?” Tito asks.

“I mean, I didn’t wanna find a place on my own, and they do all the cooking and stuff. It’ll, like, keep me in check.”

“Keep you in check,” Tito echoes, his face falling a bit. Mat’s not really sure why, but the homestand has been weird, because they’d broken the not-doing-stuff-unless-they’re-on-the-road barrier exactly once and haven’t done anything since then. To be fair, Mat had been busy moving, but still. Things have been uncertain, with Tito—a low-key kind of uncertainty, but uncertain nonetheless.

“Three square meals a day, early to bed, all that jazz,” Mat says.

“Does he make you work out with him?” Tito asks.

“I told him no push-ups,” Mat says. “But the kids tire me out.”

“They’re children,” Tito says.

“Exactly,” Mat says. “Unlimited energy.”

“So you’re giving up the bachelor life to chase kids around Seids’ house?” Tito says. “You’re definitely way too responsible.”

“I’m just happy to not live in a hotel and not have to deal with cooking and cleaning,” Mat says. “We spend plenty of time on the road, anyway.”

“Still, don’t you miss privacy?” Tito asks.

“I mean, I have my own room,” Mat says, even though he knows that’s not what Tito’s talking about. “That’s enough privacy for me.”

“I guess,” Tito says, and he gives Mat a look, almost hesitant, and Mat has a good idea of the words that are on the tip of his tongue that he doesn’t really know how to say. _You can’t bring anyone home,_ or _we don’t really have anywhere to go besides my place, now, even though we didn’t really do much at the hotel anyway._

The difference isn’t all that big in practice, but it does feel a little like a shift. Mat thinks it’s the kind of thing he can gloss over well enough, though.

“Were you planning on going to sleep soon?” he asks.

Tito shrugs. “I dunno, were you?”

“Nah,” Mat says. “I’m used to playing mini sticks, so. Extra energy to burn.”

“Really,” Tito says, smiling kind of sly, which means he’s totally picking up what Mat is throwing down.

“Really,” Mat confirms, and then he walks over to where Tito’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “So.”

“So,” Tito says, spreading his legs apart enough for Mat to stand between them, but Mat doesn’t really want to bother with going slow, because it has been a week, and the familiarity of the hotel room setting is making him feel like things with Tito are steady again.

So, Mat plants one knee on either side of Tito’s hips and runs a hand through his hair, looking down at him and not bothering to keep the want off his face, because he knows Tito wants to see it.

“I think I could be of some assistance,” Tito says, breathless, and then he’s tugging Mat into a kiss.

It’s a relief, is the thing, to know that even with Mat moving and making it more or less impossible for them to do anything when they’re not on the road, and even with that one loose end from the one time they tried, they can still have this.

And, yeah, it’s not gonna be more than this, but Mat doesn’t think he wants or needs anything more, because this already feels like more than he thought he’d get, so—

It’s good, and Mat’s smart enough to know when he should count his blessings.

***

It’s much easier to move in with a family when you have your teammate-slash-hookup’s bachelor pad as a retreat, is the thing.

Not that Mat’s, like, living there, and not that Mat doesn’t like living with the Seidenbergs, but some nights, it’s nice to feel like he has some sort of escape from feeling like a houseguest. Granted, he’s still a houseguest at Tito’s place, but Tito’s not a grown-ass adult with children, so he doesn’t feel as compelled to be polite. Plus, Mat knows that, realistically, there’s nothing wrong with drinking a little in front of children, but still, he doesn’t love having guys over for a beer when the girls are practicing gymnastics in the same room.

Dinner with the Seidenbergs is usually preferable to dinner at Tito’s, though, because dinner at Tito’s usually involves more arguing over takeout menus.

“I should just go back to Seids’ place,” Mat says, which they both know is an empty threat, but still, he wants pizza, and Tito wants Thai food, and this is his one trump card. “They cook for me.”

“I could cook for you,” Tito says, more defensive than anything else. “Some of us had to actually learn to cook for ourselves.”

“Okay, fuck that, I can cook,” Mat says. “At least as well as you. At _least._ ”

“Nah,” Tito says. “I’m definitely better.”

“You’re so full of crap,” Mat says.

“No way, let me show you some sick kitchen skills,” Tito says, tossing aside the takeout menu.

That’s how Mat finds himself chopping garlic and listening to Tito spout bullshit about cooking that he definitely only knows because he watches too many Tasty videos, but Mat figures he could use a break from takeout, and anyway, this is a matter of principles.

“So is this the first time you’ve ever turned that stove on?” Mat asks.

“I’m surprised you even know what a stove is,” Tito replies. “Is the garlic done? Or did you have to learn how to use a knife before you could actually start chopping it?”

“Give me a second,” Mat says. “I wanna make sure it’s small enough.”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s garlic,” Tito says, and Mat can feel him walking up, probably to criticize Mat for being a perfectionist—which, to be fair, is accurate, but it’s definitely a point for Mat in the good chef column, that he takes the time to make sure his minced garlic is actually minced.

He’s planning to tell Tito as much, except when Mat puts the knife down and turns around, Tito’s standing closer than he’s expecting, and it’s—like, it’s not unpleasant by any means, but Tito’s face is very close, all of a sudden.

His face is a little red, probably from laughter, and also partially from standing over a stovetop. The steam is making his hair curl in the front, the way it does sometimes when he’s sweaty after practice, and Mat’s first instinct is to brush it off his forehead, except he doesn’t, because if he touches Tito, he’s probably gonna—

Theoretically, Mat could kiss him, right now. They’re the only ones here, and if Quiner gets home, they’ll hear the door open and have time to separate. Tito’s mouth is right there, and his lips are parted, a bit, and Mat’s kissed him so many times before that he already knows exactly how Tito would react, the noise he’d make and the way he’d rock back on his heels slightly as he smiled against Mat’s mouth.

And that all sounds good to Mat—great, honestly—except the fact is, they haven’t done anything at this apartment beyond flirting since the night of Mat’s five-point game, and, like, they couldn’t really do much besides kiss right now.

Mat likes kissing Tito, obviously, but something about just making out in the kitchen just because they can is making Mat’s stomach do something complicated. He can picture it: his hands on Tito’s hips, Tito giggling against his mouth, him nipping at Tito’s neck as Tito pushes Mat back against the counter, and it’s just—it’s too close to being something else, something that Mat isn’t really prepared to think about.

His eyes flicker down to Tito’s chest, which looks amazing, but Mat doesn’t let them linger, just says, “Have I told you that you look really dumb in that apron?”

“I look great in this apron, you’re just jealous that I’m a better chef,” Tito says, not missing a beat, but he leans away from Mat. It’s only a little more distance, but it’s enough that Mat feels like he has room to breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **coming up in ch. 3** (alt. title: _exes and oh's_ )  
>  -chabshowwwww  
> -jake virtanen's one and only mention in this fic


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas Chabot gets called up a few days before they’re scheduled to play against the Sens, and Mat tries not to think about it too much, because there’s no reason he should be thinking about it too much. Like, Mat’s hooked up with plenty of guys, and Chabby is one of those guys, so it shouldn’t be any different from playing against any of the other guys he’s hooked up with, except for the fact that Chabby’s probably gonna want to hook up while he’s in Ottawa.

It’s not a guarantee, because Mat’s got a road roomie, so there’s a chance that the logistics won’t work out, but also—it’s been a thing for the last few years, every time they’ve been in the same place. Like, Chabby’s arguably the closest thing to a relationship Mat’s had, and, like, they’re not boyfriends, and they’ve never dated, but still. Mat likes Thomas a lot, and he also likes Tito a lot, and those two things maybe don’t need to directly conflict, but Mat’s worried about it anyway.

He hopes against hope that Chabby won’t bring it up, but as they’re boarding the plane after a hard-earned OT win against the Flyers, his phone buzzes.

 _hey wanna chill before the game tmrw?,_ reads the text from Thomas, and Mat nearly drops his phone.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” Ebs asks.

“Nothing,” Mat says quickly, but when he turns around, he can see Tito giving him a curious look.  

The flight there is uneventful, and Mat’s able to get his mind off the text from Chabby by focusing on destroying Ebs in Mario Kart, but when they touch down, the text is still sitting in his inbox, the lone notification in the corner of his screen driving him crazy.

He manages to hold off until they get to the hotel room.

“Chabby asked me to get lunch,” he says, and he means to sound casual, but it comes out as more of a blurt. He’s not sure when he became this much of a mess, honestly.

“Okay,” Tito says, furrowing his brow. “That’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Mat says. “I didn’t know if you—”

“I’m fine not being invited. Neither of us is in, so I’ll see him in the press box,” Tito says, but he doesn’t sound fine, and Mat’s starting to think this conversation was a bad idea.

“If you’re mad—”

“I’m not,” Tito says. “I’m just—I’m not playing tonight, I don’t know. I’m in a bad mood.”

“Okay,” Mat says. “I’m sorry.”

Tito shrugs. “Not your fault.”

Mat doesn’t think he’s exactly helping, either, but he doesn’t say that.

***

The thing about Chabby is, Mat forgets what it’s like to be around him until they’re actually in the same room.

Thomas-in-the-abstract and Thomas-in-reality are two entirely separate beasts. Like, theoretically, Thomas is a guy who’s mildly handsome at the right angles, funny enough to make up for it, and good enough in bed to make him one of Mat’s favorite all-around people. In person, though, it’s more complicated than that, because when he’s right there, he’s completely captivating.

There had been a time—a few times, actually—where Mat had thought he might be literally in love with Thomas. He chalks it up to things being intense and stakes being high, but right now they’re just getting lunch before a game that Thomas won’t even be playing in, and Mat’s already feeling that familiar tug in his stomach. It’s so natural to get caught up in his frustratingly easy smile, and the way he manages to make “Hi, Mathew,” sound like a come-on, and the fact that he’s still got shaved sides that Mat wants to run his fingers over—

And Mat’s not in love, he recognizes that now. It’s hard to breathe, and he wants to drag Chabby somewhere dark and private and rip his clothes off, but it’s not love.

It’s kind of a jarring realization to have.

“‘sup?” Mat says, because bro-speak makes it easier to confront the reality of this lunch, which is already far more stressful and cathartic than he’d expected it to be.

Thomas shrugs. “I dunno. It’s been a season.”

“Yeah,” Mat says. “How was Belleville?”

“It was alright,” Thomas says. “Being up is better.”

“For sure,” Mat says, even though he doesn’t really, not from personal experience, but he knows what Josh has said about it, and he knows traveling by private plane is worlds away from long, gruelling bus rides.

“Tell me about your season,” Thomas says, leaning forward a little, and Mat feels the air around him get thinner. He breathes through it anyway.

“I mean, it’s going alright,” Mat says casually.

“Just alright?” Thomas says, smiling. “It’s okay, man, you’re killing it.”

Mat shrugs, but smiles a little. “It’s been… good.”

“I’m happy for you,” Thomas says. “I mean, jealous, but happy.”

“I’ve had a few lucky breaks,” Mat says. “It’s a good situation, I guess. New York is a fun place.”

“I’m sure,” Thomas says. “So are you, like, a full-on New Yorker now?”

“I mean, I live in the suburbs,” Mat says.

“Yeah, but you play in Brooklyn,” Thomas says.

“Sure, but it’s not like I’m going out and experiencing the nightlife,” Mat says. “It’s not like—y’know.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, and Mat realizes they’re not just talking about life in a big city, now.

“Hockey’s still hockey,” he says with a shrug. “It’s kind of weird, I guess.”

“Have you been, like, fending off puck bunnies with a stick?” Thomas asks.

Mat cracks a small smile. “Not really. I don’t know, it’s—different than I thought it would be, I guess.”

“What, not being able to—y’know.” _Pick up,_ is what he can’t say, because they’re in public.

Mat bites his lip, because— “I mean, I sort of prepared for that, I guess.”

“But it’s lonelier than you thought?” Thomas smiles, kind of sad.

“Well,” Mat says, not really sure what he’s supposed to say here, but apparently the delayed response is strange enough that Thomas picks up on something.

“Or not,” Thomas says, slow.

“We shouldn’t talk about this,” Mat says. He kind of wants to, to be honest, because—like, Thomas won’t care either way, but Mat’s never really cared about someone he was hooking up with more than Thomas until Tito came along.

And that’s some kind of realization, now that Mat’s thinking about it.

“Alright,” Thomas says. “Well, your life sounds way more exciting than mine on that front.”

Mat wishes that didn’t fill him with some sort of weird sense of victory, but it kind of does anyway.

The rest of lunch passes smoothly, because that’s how things with Thomas tend to go. They flirt, they chirp, and they catch up, and it’s all well and good until Thomas offers to walk Mat back to his hotel, and Mat has a weird moment of wondering whether or not Tito would be okay with that. It doesn’t make sense to even ask that, because Mat and Thomas aren’t that kind of thing, and Mat and Tito aren’t that kind of thing, but it hits him anyway.

He shakes it off, though, and says yes, because it’s the normal thing to do, so nothing has any right to be weird when Mat and Thomas get back to the hotel room and Tito’s there, except it is, right off the bat.

“Hey—” Tito says, but he pauses as soon as he sees Thomas. “Oh, hi, man.”

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” Thomas says, switching to French, and he gives Tito a hug. “I’ll see you at the game later, yeah?”

“Guess so,” Tito says, sounding almost skeptical, and Thomas raises his eyebrow ever so slightly at Mat.

After Thomas takes off, Mat kind of wants to say something to Tito before he settles into his usual pregame ritual, but he doesn’t know what he should be asking, or if Tito is expecting him to explain—Mat doesn’t even know what. He’s not sure if it’s his fault things are awkward, or if it’s Tito’s, or even Chabby’s. He kind of wants to, but it doesn’t feel like, extremely weird, more just jarring.

“You good?” Mat asks, kind of unsure.

Tito looks at Mat like he’s being weird. “Uh, yeah?”

“Okay,” Mat says, kind of defensive. “I don’t know, that was—” he cuts himself off.

“What? That was fine,” Tito says.

“Whatever you say,” Mat says.

“It was fine,” Tito repeats. “It’ll be fun to watch the game with him.”

“I’ll try and give you something to watch,” Mat says, which is almost definitely the wrong thing to say, except, weirdly enough, Tito smiles.

“You better,” he says, and there’s something about it that feels like a command.

Mat’s knees don’t go weak, but it’s a near-thing.

***

Mat’s never been this nervous about two people he’s hooked up with watching him play.

To be fair, he’s hooked up with a fair number of people he’s played with, because that was how things were in Juniors, but he’s not used to this kind of thing anymore, and it’s much worse when he’s not sure how much he wants Tito to know about the Thomas thing, or how much he wants Thomas to know about the Tito thing. Not that he’s embarrassed about either of them, but this is a situation he’s not really used to, especially when Thomas already probably suspects something’s up with Mat and Tito, and if Tito finds out Mat’s done things with Thomas—or, like with other guys—

It’s not that Mat thinks Tito’s gonna be mad about it, because that’s not the kind of guy Tito is, but—like, he’d probably be hurt, if anything, and it’s not that Mat did anything wrong, but he’s kind of thought of the thing with Tito as something different than other stuff he’s done with guys in the past, because it is different, in a lot of very meaningful ways that Mat has to try very hard to not think about, but still. He doesn’t want Tito to think that this is something Mat’s used to.

Thankfully, Mat’s always been good at not thinking about things when he needs to, so he only thinks about the Thomas and Tito thing when he’s not on the ice, which gets him a good game. He doesn’t get a goal, but he sets up the game winner, which is pretty nice, and they come away with the win, which is even nicer. It’s their second win in as many days, and the mood in the locker room afterward is celebratory and easy, even though they’re all exhausted, and Mat forgets about his Tito-and-Thomas-related stress until he’s very abruptly reminded.

“Hey,” a voice says, as Mat’s stripping off his gear, and he turns around to see Tito, which is more surprising than it probably should be.

He’s wearing the suit he’d worn to the rink, which makes sense, but it makes Mat feel weirdly underdressed, even though he just played a hockey game and Tito’s only wearing a suit because he didn’t. Still, Tito looks really good in his suit, and Mat feels kind of gross right now, so, from where Mat’s standing, Tito has the upper hand.

“Hi,” Mat says, and he’s not really sure why he’s breathless. It might have something to do with the way Tito’s looking at him differently than he usually does, and Mat’s not quite sure what to make of it, or of how much he likes it.

“You played well,” Tito says, and his eyes are wide, and suddenly, it’s—it’s kind of like they’re the only two people in the room. The gentle smile on Tito’s face is making Mat’s stomach do somersaults, and it’s a little dizzying, the way Tito’s eyes are soft and bright and looking at Mat like he wants him. And, like, Mat knows what Tito’s face looks like in the seconds before he drags Mat back to a hotel room and gets him out of his clothes, and there’s a little bit of that in Tito’s expression, but it’s also—there’s a different kind of want there, this time, something kind of new, but also kind of not.

Mat really wants to kiss him.

Not in the way that Mat usually wants to kiss him, where he can hold off until they’re in private. Like, Mat wants to kiss him right now, just lean forward and press their lips together, feel how soft Tito’s are under his, even though they’ve kissed plenty of times, so Mat knows exactly how soft they are. Still, he wants to be reminded of it, to feel it, to just—just _do_ it, because kissing Tito is always fun, always good.

But Mat can’t kiss Tito, because they’re in the locker room, surrounded by teammates and reporters and a bunch of other people who would have no idea what to say or do if Mat kissed Tito right now. Mat doesn’t know if he would, either; he just wants to, very badly, and the way Tito is looking at him—like he’s having some sort of epiphany—isn’t helping.

“Thanks,” Mat says, and it definitely comes out strained. “Told you I’d give you a game worth watching.”

“You always do,” Tito says, and his smile widens, just a little.

Mat turns away, because if he looks at Tito’s face for much longer, he’s going to do something stupid. “I try my best.”

“It works,” Tito says. “Hey, I—were you gonna go out with the guys to celebrate?”

“Uh, why?” Mat asks.

“I just—” Tito pauses for a second. “I, uh, wanted to talk about something.”

“Oh,” Mat says, and all at once, he feels kind of like the coyote in all those Looney Tunes clips he’d sent to Stromer and Merks when they’d first gotten sent down, like he’d been running on solid ground until he’d looked down to find himself in a sudden free-fall.

He can’t speak for a while, even though he wants to, because with every passing second of silence he can feel Tito’s smile fading. It’s just—he doesn’t really know what to say to that, doesn’t know what he can say, what Tito wants him to say, and maybe he should just settle on _okay,_ but he’s not quite feeling okay.

Before he can come up with something, his phone buzzes, and Mat jumps on the excuse to continue to delay his response.

“I, uh, actually have plans tonight,” Mat says, looking at the string of question marks Chabby had sent him as he types out, _sup wyd rn?_

“Oh,” Tito says, after a second, and Mat can hear him deflate. “That’s—yeah, right, of course.”

“I’m sorry,” Mat says.

“No, it’s cool,” Tito says. “Uh, have fun, then. Don’t wake me up when you get back.”

“Alright,” Mat says, and he hates the way Tito sounds so disappointed it’s almost hurt, but Mat’s just—for his own sanity, he can’t do this tonight, not until he’s had some time to seriously consider things. And maybe that’s a little selfish, but, like, whatever. Mat’s allowed to be selfish right now, probably, because things are so confusing and he’s still not even sure what he’s saying no to, but whatever it is, he can’t do it.

“See you,” Tito says, and Mat watches him rush out of the locker room, kind of wanting to chase after him. He doesn’t, though, and he’s not sure if it’s because he can’t or he won’t, but either way, he stays in place.

***

Instead of going to the hotel the team is staying in, Mat goes to the one Thomas lives in, which is slightly less awful than the Long Island Marriott, but not by a whole lot.  

“Dude, I’ve gotta say, I don’t miss living in a hotel,” Mat says. “Maid service or not, it fucking blows.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Thomas says.

“I hope you stay up long enough to get your own place,” Mat says. He thinks he will; Chabby’s an NHL-caliber player, and the Sens are looking less and less like they’re in a position to be picky with prospects.

“Thanks,” Chabby says. “So are you gonna tell me about Beauvillier, or no?”

“I was working up to that,” Mat says, sitting down on the bed.

“And now you don’t have to,” Chabby says. “So, what’s up with that?”

“How did you figure out there was a thing, anyway?” Mat asks.

“I mean, you’re acting all jumpy, and it’s pretty obvious that he’s into you,” Thomas says. “He’s very… attentive, every time you’re on the ice.”

“Oh,” Mat says.

“So?” Thomas prompts. “What’s up with that?”

“I mean, he—we’ve been… messing around, I don’t know,” Mat says.

“Oh,” Thomas says. “Oh, so you’re actually—it’s actually a thing.”

“What did you think?”

“I don’t know, I just didn’t know he was into guys,” Thomas says.

Mat shrugs. “I don’t know that he is.”

“What?”

“I mean—I don’t know if he’s… done anything with other guys before? And he hasn’t, like, told me or anything—”

“You’re sleeping with him,” Thomas says, like he’s explaining something very obvious. “Straight guys don’t sleep with other guys.”

“Okay, but—I don’t know, he’s still probably, like, confused,” Mat says. “I’m letting him work that stuff out on his own.”

“In your bed?” Thomas says.

“I mean, it’s usually when we’re on the road,” Mat says. “I don’t know, it’s fine. Or—I don’t know.”

“I’m gonna start keeping track of every time you say ‘I don’t know’ in this conversation,” Thomas says. “It could be a good drinking game.”

Mat sighs. “He wanted to talk tonight,” he admits.

“About—”

“He didn’t tell me,” Mat says. “But it was gonna be a big conversation, and I wasn’t ready for that.”

Chabby nods, and there’s a beat of silence before he speaks. “I was watching him watch you, in the press box.”

“Okay,” Mat says.

“He’s really… tuned into you. Pretty obviously.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Mat says.

“He’s a little possessive,” Thomas says, more blunt than Mat is expecting. “So I’m guessing that has something to do with why he wanted to talk to you.”

“What do you mean by possessive?”

“I mean, he kept giving me… looks,” Thomas says. “And just, his general vibe.” He pauses. “Does he know you’re here?”

“He knows I’m somewhere.”

“Mathew,” Thomas says.

“I told him I couldn’t talk tonight, because I had plans. He doesn’t know I’m with you.” Mat admits. “I mean, I’m just trying to not—to avoid it, I guess.”

“To avoid what?”

“Talking,” Mat says. “About whatever his thing was.”

“I mean, you have to have some idea of what it is,” Thomas says.

“Maybe,” Mat says, and every almost-realization he’s had since the whole Tito thing started is playing in his head like a montage, urging him to notice, but he keeps it at bay, just for a little bit longer. “I don’t know, though.”

“Well, you should probably figure it out,” Thomas says.

Mat shoots him a glare. “Thanks. Real helpful.”

Thomas smiles, amused, and Mat melts a little at it, more out of nostalgia than anything else. “Glad to see that fame hasn’t made you any less sarcastic.”

“Literal death couldn’t make me less sarcastic,” Mat says. It earns him a chuckle, which is nice, but it doesn’t put butterflies in his stomach the way it used to, or the way it does now, when it’s coming from Tito.

Mat’s got a lot to think about, probably.

***

It’s late by the time Mat gets back to the room in Ottawa, but Tito doesn’t come back until ten minutes after him, which is playing it close to the curfew deadline, but when he walks in, he’s wearing sweatpants, which means he was probably just in a different room.

“Hi,” Tito says, and he sounds surprised, and a little hesitant, like he’s not sure how to be around Mat. It’s probably fair, considering Mat had more or less blown him off earlier.

“Hey,” Mat says. “You didn’t go out?”

“Nah, I was with Josh,” Tito says. “We were talking.”

“Cool,” Mat says awkwardly.

“Where were you?”

Mat bites his lip. “With Chabby.”

“With Chabby,” Tito echoes, and Mat isn’t looking, but he’s pretty sure Tito’s staring at him.

“We were just catching up,” Mat says.

“Thought you guys caught up earlier.”

“We didn’t get to finish,” Mat says, and he regrets it the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Tito says. “Okay, then—”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Tito says quickly. “You don’t need to explain where you were.”

“No, but it wasn’t—we were just talking,” Mat says.

“I mean, it’s not like I—” Tito huffs out a breath. “Your business is your business, you don’t owe me anything, so if you want to—”

“I don’t want to,” Mat says, even though he’s not even sure what they’re talking about anymore, and Tito looks a little taken aback.

“Oh,” he says, a beat too late.

There’s a moment of them staring at each other, this weird, loaded thing, and the nagging voice from before is back, reminding Mat of Tito wearing his shirt, Tito curled up on his chest, Tito pressed close to him outside the fucking Marriott, Tito wearing his hat and smiling, wide and bright and electric, and—

It doesn’t feel like a realization, honestly, because it’s not. Mat’s always known what he’s been Not Thinking About, and he’s really good at compartmentalizing, but that’s not the same as being dumb. Like—no one spends this much time just thinking about a hookup, even a particularly confusing hookup, and really, Mat’s known all along that this thing with Tito wasn’t ever really about that, because it’s always been about them. As long as Tito’s happy, Mat is, and that’s never been as “whatever” as Mat’s told himself. He’s convincing when he lies to himself, but he always knows it’s a self preservation move, and now they’re way past the point of “whatever,” and way too deep in whatever this is, and Mat has let himself fall into it, so really, none of it comes as a surprise.

But that doesn’t mean the moment of impact is any easier.

Like, there is no good reason that finally realizing that he likes Tito should feel like the end of the world, but it seriously does, because it’s real, the bubble’s popped, and Mat has to confront the fact that this shit isn’t something he can just avoid til it wears off. Tito is his teammate and roommate and friend and Mat’s been sleeping with him and not talking about it, and that’s way too fucking reckless, because it’s not just going to go away without Mat having to handle the situation. Usually, that’s something he’s good at, except there’s a lot more tangled up in this than Mat is used to, feelings he’s never really felt before and six years of friendship and their fucking professional careers, and Mat’s out of his depth and has no clue who he could possibly turn to.

“I’m gonna crash,” Mat says, tearing his eyes away from Tito, which is easy, because he wants to, but difficult, because it’s Tito. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tito says, his voice weird. “Night.”

“I mean, I still have to get ready,” Mat says awkwardly.

“Right, right,” Tito says.

“I’ll just—” Mat grabs his toiletries bag and heads to the bathroom, and Tito nods, almost dazed.

Mat’s not really sure what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it.

***

The difference between lightly repressed feelings and a full-on crush: boatloads of awkwardness.

Or, maybe that’s just Mat and Tito, because as soon as they get back to New York from Ottawa, things get weird, in a way that’s not soul-crushingly bad, but is confusing, and unclear, and disorienting. They hang out like everything’s normal, but it so clearly isn’t, because there’s this heaviness, all of a sudden.

The issue is, Mat doesn’t know what the cause of it is, if it’s just him, or if it’s both of them, because—like, Mat doesn’t know how to be around Tito when he’s trying to figure out what he’s gonna do about his feelings, and that makes sense, but it also feels like Tito doesn’t know how to be around Mat. He’s jumpy, can’t sit still on his couch when Mat’s over there playing video games, like he doesn’t know how close he’s allowed to sit anymore.

It’s not just, like, tension either, because Tito’s not exactly in the best of moods. They play the Canucks, and Tito opts out of hanging out with the group so he can chill with Sanger, which, fine, they’re close, except he makes some comment to Mat about how Mat’s probably gonna want to “catch up” with Virtanen, since he’s in town.

And there’s something about the way he says it—the weird emphasis that he puts on “catch up,” which makes it pretty clear that he’s still thinking about Ottawa, and it’s this backhanded accusation that really grinds Mat’s gears. Like, Mat hadn’t done anything with Thomas, and besides, there’s no way in hell Mat would do what Tito thinks they did with Jake Virtanen, of all people. Mat knows him way too well, and, like, he loves the guy, but even if he was into dudes—which, Mat’s pretty sure he isn’t, but he’s clearly been wrong about that before—Mat’s not really into cocky guys who vaguely resemble greasy zombies.

But it’s not like things with Tito come to a full halt, because there’s still the same lingering looks and unnecessary touches, but it’s just set against this weird, unspoken conversation between them, where Mat’s not sure what either of them is trying to communicate.

It’s stressful, and it’s awkward, but a part of Mat thinks it’s a good step, like maybe now that shit’s weird, they’ll either have to talk about it or call things off.

A much larger and more realistic part of Mat, though, thinks that neither of those options sounds appealing, and holds on to the hope that one of them will give in soon, so he can get his hands on Tito, and shake the feeling of distance between them.

***

In the end, Mat cracks after a week, but it’s all Tito’s fault, because Tito scores.

He corners Tito in a hallway after the game, frustrated with the loss, and the fact that it had almost been a win, and there’s just too much going on in his head right now for him to spend more time worrying about things with Tito, who’s still looking at Mat like he wants him, but is waiting for Mat to give him the go ahead.

Mat doesn’t know how to give him the go ahead, but he knows what he wants, and right now, he really, really wants Tito.

He doesn’t really think about anything, just glances around to make sure there’s no one else in the hallway before grabbing Tito and pulling him in for a kiss.

“Sorry,” he says, against Tito’s mouth. “Just—your goal.” Which isn’t really true, because it isn’t really about the goal, but the way Tito had lit up afterward, and just—he’d looked so fucking good, and it felt right, Tito being that happy, because Tito should always be that happy, honestly, and Mat wants to do everything in his power to make that happen.

Which is maybe a little sappy, but honestly, Mat’s made his peace with being a little sappy when it comes to Tito.

“We didn’t even win,” Tito says, but it’s not an actual protest, and god, it hasn’t even been that long, but Mat’s missed this, even the dumb things, like the way Tito always closes his left eye a millisecond before his right one when he blinks, or the patch of dry skin on his cheeks, or the weird asymmetry of his eyebrows—small, unsexy details, strangely specific features only Mat knows about because he’s apparently dedicated a lot of time to memorizing every inch of him.

“Whatever,” Mat says. “Fuck the game.”

“Thought you’d want to congratulate Chabs on his first goal,” Tito says, grinning all sly, like that hasn’t been a sore spot between them all week. Mat thinks, for a second, that it actually hasn’t been, and that it’d all been in his head, but then he meets Tito’s eye for a second and realizes that he’s trying to downplay it, smooth it over and move past it, and Mat is more than willing to play along.

“I can text him later,” he says. “He’s got a team to celebrate with.”

“And all I’ve got is you,” Tito says.

“Fuck yeah, you’ve got me,” Mat says, leaning in to kiss him again.

It’s so good that Mat almost doesn’t hear the distant voices in the hallway.

He backs away quickly, and there’s a split second where Tito looks confused, but he must see the way Mat’s looking around, because his eyes go wide as he presumably hears the sound of people talking before they walk around the corner.

It’s Ebs and Ladd, which means they’re probably looking for Mat, and there shouldn’t be anything strange about him hanging out with Tito in some random alcove, but that doesn’t stop his heart from beating about a million times faster than it should be. Hopefully, it’s not showing on his face.

“Hey,” Mat says, trying to sound normal. “‘sup?”

“Just wanted to go over stuff,” Ladd says.

“I think coach was looking for you, Beau,” Ebs adds. “Congrats on the goal.”

“Thanks,” Tito says, and he definitely doesn’t sound normal, but if the other guys pick up on anything, they don’t show it. “I’m gonna—”

“See you, man,” Mat says, giving Tito a nod as he makes his way down the hall.

His eyes linger on Tito as he retreats, even as Ebs starts to ramble on about strategy, and Mat knows he’s acting uncharacteristically distracted, but he acts weird after games sometimes, so they’re probably gonna chalk it up to that.

Or even if they don’t, they probably wouldn’t assume it has anything to do with Tito, because that’s not the kind of conclusion guys jump to.

Mat’s heart is still jackrabbiting, a little.

***

Thankfully, they have a road trip, which is, on the one hand, exhausting, but also means that Mat and Tito have all the alone time in the world, and they use it well, which, thank god.

Maybe a week of not-quite-intentional awkwardness wasn’t that big a deal, especially when it was probably at least partially the result of circumstance anyway, but it feels like they have lost time to make up for. Things with Tito haven’t, historically, been fast and needy and intense like this, but all of a sudden, there’s just—this fierceness, really, is the only way to describe it.

Forget lust, honestly. Tito’s eyes are straight-up _hungry_ after every game. They have one shootout win, but then lose the rest of them, and Mat’s not sure where this desperation is coming from, but he thinks it’s hockey.

Or, like, it has to be hockey, because there’s something in the way Tito grabs him, tight enough that his fingerprints leave marks, that can’t be about Mat. Like, Mat’s used to being wanted, but there’s something next-level about the way Tito’s pupils are dark and wide before Mat even has his clothing off.

Mat doesn’t really want to slow it down, but sometimes it feels like Tito’s… Mat doesn’t even know. Trying to say something, maybe, or figure something out, and like, the end result is just that things are a bit rougher in bed, which Mat is very on board with, but as Tito’s friend, he’s kind of worried.

It’s not a huge thing—Tito’s still his usual, cheerful self—but it’s enough that, when they’re on one of their beds after losing in Boston, Mat doesn’t go along with it when Tito tries to speed up the kiss, just pulls away gently.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” Tito starts.

“No, it’s not—” Mat says. “It’s not that I don’t want—just, are you okay?”

Tito blinks at him. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Mat says, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve been kinda… on edge, lately.”

“On edge,” Tito echoes. He starts to climb off Mat, which is not what Mat had in mind, so before he can think about it, he grabs his hand.

“I’m not trying to be nosy, I’m just worried,” Mat says, honest. “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me.”

Tito stares at him for a second, his face inscrutable, but then he deflates, gives Mat a small shrug. “I’ve just been kinda stressed.”

“Oh,” Mat says. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Tito shakes his head. “It’s just—hockey stuff. Sorry I’ve been all—”

“You’re good,” Mat says, rubbing his thumb over the back of Tito’s hand on instinct. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“Don’t be,” Tito says. “I mean, thanks, I’ve just—I’ve been kind of in my head about it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Mat says, because he really, really does.

Tito bites his lip, and suddenly, Mat can see the stress on his face, plain as anything. It’s everywhere, and it looks fucking awful, and Mat kind of wishes he could say something to make it all better, but he doesn’t really know what.

So, instead, Mat does something stupid.

“Hey,” Mat says, his voice quieter than even he’s expecting. “C’mere.”

Tito looks up, and Mat pulls him in for a kiss, gentle and slow and soft, and it feels so nice that Mat almost forgets that this is, quite possibly, the worst choice he’s ever made.

It’s easier when things are so hard and fast that Mat doesn’t have time to think. It’s difficult, being around Tito now that he knows what he feels, and what he wants, but it’s been manageable lately, because it’s felt more like just a hookup, two guys using each other to get off and forget how shitty things are. And that’s probably not the healthiest thing, but at least it meant Mat didn’t have to focus on his feelings, just on their bodies and the way they moved, and that’s something Mat’s always known how to do.

Right now is something different.

It’s the kind of thing that’s always felt more natural with Tito, absolutely terrifying and difficult to resist at the same time. It’s Mat opening up, and he’s done it with Tito more than with anyone else, but this is a whole new level, and Mat’s heart feels full just from this one kiss.

But there’s no turning back now, so he softly breaks away and looks up at Tito, who seems kind of dazed. “Is this okay?” Mat asks.

Tito nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, this is good.”

“Can I—” Mat says, tugging at the bottom of Tito’s shirt, and Tito nods and strips it off.

He takes his time, even though it’s late, and they have to be up early tomorrow, but that doesn’t really matter, not when he can see the tension leave Tito’s shoulders, and the way Tito’s eyes flutter shut as he says Mat’s name in this beautiful, choked whisper as Mat gently cups the front of his jeans. Sex has always been a little bit about creating a world where they get to just enjoy each other like this, but it’s been magnified a thousand times, even though it’s so small. It’s not just that the world outside this hotel room doesn’t exist, but the world outside their bodies doesn’t, either. The only purpose the air has, right now, is carrying words from Tito’s lips to Mat’s ears. The only reason there’s a bed at all is so that Tito’s knees land somewhere soft when he straddles Mat’s lap so Mat can jerk him off, slow and purposeful, and Tito has to know that Mat is savoring every second of this, but he’s every bit as into it as Mat is.

And maybe that was what Mat was most afraid of—like, it’d suck to give this much of himself to Tito and get shut down in response, but it’s almost worse that Tito gives himself back. It’s so fucking _intimate,_ the way they’re holding each other so close, and Mat swears his life isn’t some dumb romance movie, but the moment feels like clutching flower petals in his hand so hard they crumple, fragile and soft and indestructible all at once.

Tito doesn’t say anything before he comes, because by the time he’s close, he’s pretty much been reduced to sharp exhales and soft groans. He doesn’t have to, though; Mat’s reading him closely, so when Tito’s breath hitches and his hips twitch forward into Mat’s hand, Mat’s prepared.

It should be gross, that Tito’s come is all over both of them, and it should be even grosser when Tito goes limp against him, but it’s not. It’s a little bit like they’re glued together—which, objectively, is disgusting, and Mat knows this, but he can’t help but bask in it, a little.  

Or maybe he’s just basking in Tito, right now. He’s not sure which is worse.

Either way, things feel good right now, and it’s not a good feeling that’s going to last. Mat knows this, because he knows that this isn’t what his brain thinks it is, and that eventually, this is going to come crashing down, and it’s going to hurt—

Except then, Tito pulls away, and Mat can see that his eyes are wide and almost sparkling. He looks more relaxed and happy than he has in a while, and Mat wants to kiss him, so he does, and Tito kisses back, easy as anything.

And it’s not really, because none of this is easy, but with Tito like this—Mat thinks he can stand to pretend it is, for a little.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **coming up in ch. 4**   
> 


	4. Chapter 4

December is a good month for Mat, overall. The Calder talk hasn’t worn off, and Mat knows the Calder doesn’t mean anything, but still, he’s getting more and more used to this whole NHL thing, and that makes playing more fun. 

Plus, for most of December, things with Tito are great. 

After Mat goes ahead and stupidly lets all his feelings bullshit loose, the unspoken rules about what they can and can’t do fly out the window, because suddenly, Tito is there pretty much all the time. 

It’s not even like they actually hook up more. But there are little things, like—instead of sitting asymptotically close on the couch, Tito will just throw his legs over Mat’s, or straight-up sit in his lap, if Quiner isn’t there. 

There’s kissing, the more comfortable kind that’s not supposed to lead to anything, and like, it’s not quite chaste, but it’s softer, less needy than it used to be. Mat’s not sure when he got used to kissing Tito, but it feels familiar, just making out whenever they can steal a moment alone together, in Tito’s kitchen or even on Mat’s couch, if the kids aren’t home. 

And they don’t really cuddle, because Mat doesn’t know if he could stand going to bed with Tito in his arms every night and not actually getting to have him, but they’ll sleep in the same bed on the road. Tito has really cold feet and a habit of tucking them under the nearest warm object when he’s falling asleep, and Mat makes a show of grumbling, but they both know he doesn’t actually mind, the same way he doesn’t actually mind waking up with Tito’s hand splayed across his chest, or the way he doesn’t actually mind Tito “accidentally” stealing his t-shirts whenever possible. 

Mat doesn’t even try to put a stop to any of it. He tells himself it’s because it would be a bad idea to cut things off now, but really, he just likes it all too much, and he figures that he might as well be happy while he can.

***

The team hits a bad streak halfway through the month, but just when it’s starting to feel like they can’t buy a win, the Jets come to town, and, on an unseasonably warm December day, things start to feel like they’re turning around. 

It’s their last game before the Christmas break, and maybe it’s kind of dumb to think that this game matters more than any other, but they’re all hungry for a win, and the win they get is fucking amazing. Tito scores, and Mat gets a hat trick, and that would usually mean that they would steal some alone time together, except after the game, Tito doesn’t make any suggestive comments, doesn’t let his hand linger as he raises a questioning eyebrow, doesn’t do any of the stuff he usually does, just gives Mat these looks, that are definitely substantial, but also… serious, Mat thinks. Questioning. 

“Good game,” Mat says, when they’re out afterwards. 

“Thanks,” Tito says.

“You’re too calm for a guy who got a goal today,” Mat says. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m not too calm,” Tito says, smiling, and it’s genuine. He’s right, too, actually; it’s not that he’s down, or anything, it’s just not the same exuberant, bubbly kind of thing Mat expects from him. 

“I guess not,” Mat says.

Tito shrugs, almost coy, and Mat’s not really sure what to do with it, because Tito’s usually the one who keeps up conversation. He doesn’t seem uninterested, though, just—a little taciturn, maybe. That’s something Mat can work with. 

“Do you want a drink?” he asks. 

Tito raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you get a hat trick earlier?” 

“What’s that got to do with it?” Mat says, grinning, a little, mostly because Tito is. 

“I mean, you don’t pay for anyone’s drinks if you get a hat trick,” Tito says. “Isn’t that the tradition?” 

“I don’t pay for my own,” Mat says. “I’m allowed to buy drinks for anyone I want.” 

“And you want to buy me a drink,” Tito says, and it’s not a question. 

Mat’s stomach does something weird, because—Mat knows that things mean something different, when there’s sex and feelings involved, and he can hear the way the phrase and the implication and the action all get tied together in the way Tito says it, but it’s still within the realm of coded language, which means there’s room for plausible deniability, so Mat might as well tell the truth. 

“Yeah, I do,” Mat says. “So, can I?” 

Tito cracks a smile. “Jack and coke.” 

Mat scoffs. “I know your order,” he says, standing up, but he’s still feeling kind of giddy-weird. 

It’s flirting, he realizes, smooth and smart and intentional, Tito prodding at yet another boundary, maybe starting to figure some stuff out. Or maybe he’s already figured things out; Mat’s not really sure, because Tito’s been hard to read, lately, which Mat had assumed was because of his still-doomed, capital-F Feelings, but now, he’s starting to think it might be intentional on Tito’s part. 

Not that Tito’s being particularly coy; he eventually starts to do his usual flirting, so they sneak away to make out in the alley behind the bar, and Mat thinks that’ll be enough, except then they start actually making out, and it becomes pretty clear that they’re both too keyed up to be satisfied with this. 

“Are you sure you can’t get the apartment to yourself tonight?” Mat says, mostly into Tito’s mouth. 

“He’s probably already back,” Tito says, sounding as regretful as Mat feels. “He left early.” 

“Damnit,” Mat says. 

“Next time you get a hat trick, I’ll make sure he clears out before it’s too late,” Tito says. 

“Only for a hat trick?” 

“Or another five point game, maybe,” Tito says, and then pulls Mat in for a kiss. Mat returns it, obviously, because he’s made his peace with the fact that he’s never going to get everything he wants from Tito, so even if he would prefer a bedroom, candles, rose petals, and three days alone with no clothes on, if making out in an alley is what he gets, making out in an alley is what he’ll do. 

***

Christmas comes and goes uneventfully, because it’s a pretty short break, and Mat’s parents are in town for a few days. They celebrate in a hotel room, which is less than ideal, but at least there’s family, and a pretty nice view, so, all-in-all, it could be worse. It’s refreshing, having some time without hockey.

Mat goes into their next game feeling good, and he only gets one point, but that point is a goal in overtime after the game had been tied with less than two minutes to go, so Mat’s not exactly surprised when Tito texts him from across the locker room to tell him that they’ve got the apartment to themselves that night before he’s even finished taking off his gear. 

They linger a little later than usual, because it feels like they have more time, knowing that the apartment is going to be empty, but they’re still nowhere near shutting down the bar. Still, there’s no real desperation to it; Mat fends off drinks from his teammates for most of the night, because he’s not trying to get wasted, but he’s pleasantly buzzed by the time they leave, and he thinks Tito is the same. They talk normally the whole ride home, and it doesn’t have the same weight it usually does when they’re about to hook up, where everything feels like  _ want  _ and  _ tension  _ and  _ now.  _

This is just… Mat and Tito, hanging out, natural as anything, and when they get to Tito’s place, there’s no door-slamming, no clawing hands or needy sounds. This is a treat, the entire apartment all to themselves, and it’s just—it’s happy, in this easy, familiar way that Mat should maybe not let himself get used to, but there’s no way that’s gonna happen, because this is the choice that makes sense, and the choice he wants to make. 

Here’s what happens, when they get to Tito’s place and the door shuts behind them: Tito leans forward and presses a kiss to Mat’s mouth, soft and simple, over before it starts. Just a peck. Like a greeting, but a really sweet, really great greeting. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” Tito says, smiling, and he’s blushing, a little bit. 

It’s a really cute blush, honestly. 

“That’s so on-brand,” Mat says with a smile of his own, and then he unties his shoes before he does anything else, because there had been a light dusting of snow on Tito’s walkway, and it’s probably rude to track that inside. 

“What does that mean?” Tito asks, but he sounds more amused than offended. 

“It means that you’ve got a thing for my hockey,” Mat says.

“Your hockey,” Tito echoes, smiling, and it sounds like he’s talking about anything but. He makes it sound like some joke they’re both in on, and, honestly, it kind of is, so Mat chuckles, because hockey is a bonus, an excuse for them to do this, but it’s not really the point of it, and it hasn’t been for a long time. 

“You should’ve done more Christmas decorating in here,” Mat says, moving toward him. 

“Why?” Tito asks. 

“Mistletoe,” Mat says simply. “Could’ve been effective.” 

“I don’t think I really need mistletoe to get you to kiss me,” Tito says, and then he leans in and does just that, and Mat honestly forgets what they were even talking about until Tito pulls back and says, “See? No mistletoe required.” 

Mat blinks, and it takes him a second to realize what Tito’s even talking about. “I’m not saying it’s necessary. Just festive.” 

“So you’re here to celebrate Christmas?” Tito says, raising an eyebrow, and Mat just smiles, shakes his head, and pulls him in for another kiss. 

They go slow, because things feel leisurely right now, and Mat doesn’t feel the need to, like, tear Tito’s clothes off his body immediately—not that he doesn’t want to, per se, but he knows that once he does, they’re not going back on, so he takes his time and enjoys things, like the way Tito’s abs look with his shirt hiked up just a little, a teasing strip of skin above his waistband, or the way he looks at various stages of undress. There’s a lot of Tito that’s fun to look at naked, but there’s something to be said for the way he looks in clothing—which Mat knows means that Tito’s basically just always fun to look at, but honestly, that makes sense. 

They don’t even make it to the bedroom for a while. Tito tugs Mat over to the couch and starts to unbutton his shirt, and they even turn on the TV, just because it feels more homey, and like, it’s not that having the Barefoot Contessa playing in the background really does much for Mat, but it’s comfortable, having background noise and lights on, an entire apartment at their disposal. 

And Mat gets off, and so does Tito, but, like, that’s not the point of Mat being here tonight. What’s more memorable to Mat is Tito walking into the kitchen in his boxers to make popcorn, and the two of them settling in to watch  _ Friends  _ on Tito’s couch, and Mat being woken up a few hours later, his head on Tito’s chest, his feet on the coffee table. 

“Oh shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry, didn’t mean to.” 

“You’re good,” Tito says, as Mat lifts his head, but barely, because he’s not quite awake yet. 

“How long was I asleep?” Mat asks. 

“Like, twenty minutes?” Tito says. “I might’ve nodded off too.” 

“S’probably a good time to go to sleep,” Mat says. 

“Probably,” Tito says, and Mat’s not touching him anymore, but he can feel him tense up anyway.

“Everything good?” he asks, wondering if he said something weird in his sleep. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tito says, but he still sounds nervous. “Just, uh, I’m gonna go to my bedroom now.” 

“Okay,” Mat says, confused. “Should I come too?” 

“Oh,” Tito says, sitting up a little straighter, and that’s when Mat realizes, a little  belatedly, that him staying the night wasn’t a given. 

“Or—is it okay? If I crash here?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tito says. “I mean, if you want.” 

And Mat does want to, but suddenly, he’s not sure he’s allowed to. “Do you want me to?” 

“I—it’s up to you,” Tito says. 

Mat really doesn’t want this choice to be on him, but he looks at Tito’s face, and it’s… nervous, and hopeful, and all of a sudden, it hits him that Tito very clearly wants him to stay. 

They should talk about this. They really, really should because right now, Mat’s options are leave and make them both unhappy, or stay and risk having a conversation he has no idea how to even begin. 

But still, between two options, one is clearly shittier, so.

“It’s kind of late,” Mat says, even though he has no clue what time it is. “Doesn’t really make sense for me to go.” He offers a grin, nervous, and the one he gets in return is all relief. 

“Really doesn’t,” Tito says. “And it’d be rude of me to make you sleep on the couch.” 

“I’d survive, but a bed is preferable,” Mat says. 

“Even if you have to share?” Tito says. 

Mat figures they’re already in too deep right now, so he might as well be honest. “As long as it’s you I’m sharing with.” 

This time, when Tito smiles, there’s so much more than relief in it, and Mat’s not even going to try and pick apart everything that makes him feel warm inside from every possible angle, because he knows he won’t actually be able to figure it out.

***

They wake up together the next morning, and Tito doesn’t exactly make him breakfast in bed, but he does drink coffee from Tito’s mug, in Tito’s kitchen, after waking up smelling like the night he’d just spent with Tito. 

There’s a feeling in Mat’s stomach that should maybe be dread, but it’s not, because Mat can’t bring himself to feel worried or scared about this anymore. And maybe that should be scary in and of itself, but—it’s Tito, who’s been trustworthy over and over again, and if they’ve made it this far without things getting majorly fucked up, then maybe it’s time for Mat to stop worrying. 

It’s a delusion that sticks with Mat for about 36 hours.

Their thing has always been the elephant in the room, but it’s an elephant that triples in size in Winnipeg. Mat doesn’t score, and Tito’s scratched, but honestly, it’s not just them both being frustrated, the same way it’s not just the loss and it’s not just the fact that things had been so fun and easy after their last game. 

It’s all of it, really, the way things have been building lately, and the way it’s been from the start, because they’ve been saying things with their bodies that they should’ve said with their mouths.  

So: Tito doesn’t play, Mat doesn’t score, the team doesn’t win, and after the game, they make their way back to the hotel room. 

It feels like whiplash, to feel this beaten down so soon after feeling so good, which is the part of the NHL that no one really warns you about. Everything feels like it matters, and everything feels endless, and Tito’s always been Mat’s rock, so Mat goes over to his bed, sits next to him and wraps an arm around Tito’s waist, and Tito leans into it, easier than anything today has been by a longshot. 

“Hey,” Tito says, his voice a little thin. “How’re you?” 

“Awful,” Mat says honestly. 

Tito smiles. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

“How was the press box?” Mat asks. 

“Shitty,” Tito says. “Quiner was being kind of a dick.” 

“Isn’t he always,” Mat says. 

Tito shrugs. “I guess. He just kept bugging me about why I asked him to clear out the other night.” 

“Oh,” Mat says, lifting his head, and his throat goes kind of dry. “What did you tell him?”

“To shut up, but—I don’t know, it’s…” his voice trails off.  

“It’s… what?” Mat asks.

“It’s something that’s been bothering me lately?” Tito says. “Or, not bothering, but—you and me, we’ve been doing this for months, and we’ve known each other for years, and we just haven’t talked about it, but—I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It just seems like we should.” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Mat says, even though that’s bullshit, and they both know it. 

“Just—this,” Tito says, gesturing between the two of them. “What are we doing?” 

“I don’t know any better than you do,” Mat says. 

“Well, then let’s figure it out,” Tito says, and Mat can hear the beginnings of frustration in his voice. “I’m okay with keeping it just—buddies, or whatever, but I just need the mixed signals to end.” 

“What mixed signals?” 

“The first time I ever tried to, like, bring it up, you blew me off to ‘catch up’ with Chabs—” 

“We were just talking—”

“But then a week later, he scores his first goal and you have no problem ignoring that so you can find me in the hallway and kiss me? I’m fine if you want to cool things down, but you don’t really act that way, and it just doesn’t really line up.” 

“Why do you keep bringing up Chabby?” Mat asks. 

“Because I’m jealous,” Tito says. “I really don’t want to be, but I am, okay? Like, it’s fine if you—” 

“We didn’t  _ do  _ anything,” Mat says. “We were seriously just talking.”

“So you’ve never? With Chabby?” 

“I—not  _ never _ ,” Mat says. “Just, not in a while.” 

“How long is ‘a while’?” Tito asks. 

“Like, the Memmer?” Mat says. “I don’t know, it’s—we fooled around a bunch in Juniors, but it wasn’t like—it was a different kind of thing.” 

“Different from what?” 

“From—” Mat gestures between the two of them. “This.” 

“How?” 

“I mean,” Mat says. “There were other guys back then, and—I don’t know, you do what you want, but I haven’t—since we started… y’know. There hasn’t been anyone else.” 

“Why?” Tito says.

“Because I don’t want to,” Mat says, and it’s just—it’s way too true, and god, he must be more fucked than he thought, because he can’t imagine wanting anyone the way he wants Tito. “I’ve got you, y’know?”

“And I’m already a done deal?” Tito says. 

Mat shakes his head. “No, just—c’mon.”

“What?” 

“This is—it’s really good, dude,” Mat says, the tiniest bit desperate. “You’re good, and  _ we’re _ good, and—I really like this.” 

“But what even is ‘this’?” Tito says. “What are we doing, man?”

“It’s—fuck it,” Mat says, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he lets some annoyance seep into his voice. “I don’t know any better than you do what we’re doing, okay? What do you want me to tell you?”

“I just want to be on the same page,” Tito says. 

“Well, we’re both confused, then, that’s a start,” Mat says. 

“Sorry if you didn’t want to talk about this, but don’t get pissed at me,” Tito says. “I’m just trying to figure out what you want here.” 

“That not what—” Mat starts, but he bites his lip, because he doesn’t actually want to pick a fight with Tito. “I’m not pissed at you, it just doesn’t seem fair for you to ask what I want without telling me what you want.” 

“I mean, I don’t—I don’t really know what I want, or, like, what I’m allowed to want, and it’s just—I want to have some idea of where this is headed, okay?”

“You’re asking—how I feel? About this?”  _ About you,  _ Mat doesn’t say, but they both know that’s what he means. 

“Sort of,” Tito says, which means yes, and it feels like he’s chipping away at the last bit of an already weak facade. 

So, Mat doesn’t really have any choice but to confront the parts of this he’s tried to avoid, even though they’re kind of the point of it all, the whole reason there’s anything here to begin with. 

“I like you,” Mat says, before he can second guess it, and the words hang in the air as Mat tries to keep his breath steady. 

There’s a stretch of silence, weird and loaded, before Tito says, “So it’s like—you—” he gulps. “What does that mean?” 

Mat bites his lip. “It means that I’m—like, I really like hooking up with you, and you’re my best friend, and I have, like,  _ feelings _ —just, I like you.” he shrugs, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Kind of a lot, if we’re being honest.”     

“Oh,” Tito says, half a beat too late. 

“Yeah,” Mat says. “That’s why I didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“Because you thought I didn’t?” Tito asks, his voice kind of quiet.

“Because it doesn’t matter if you do,” Mat says. “I just—I wanted to enjoy this while I could have it, I guess.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”  

Mat doesn’t look up, but he can feel Tito’s eyes on him, and he can imagine the look Tito’s giving him. 

“But if you—why can’t we?” Tito asks.

“Why can’t we what?” 

“Why can’t we be… like, together,” Tito says. “Or—‘be together’ sounds weird, but you know what I’m trying to say.”

“If you can’t even say it—” 

“I can,” Tito protests, crossing his arms. 

Mat raises an eyebrow at him, but he still can’t quite meet his eye. 

“Date,” Tito says. “If you like me, and I like you, then we should… date. Each other.” He gulps. “Right?”

The word sounds weird in his mouth, or maybe in Mat’s ear. It could be either, honestly, because no part of Mat is ready for this conversation. 

“We can’t, though,” Mat says, and it takes a lot of effort to keep his voice steady. “Like—you know that’s not an option.” 

“Why?” 

“Dude, come on,” Mat says. “We play hockey for a living.” 

“So what?” Tito says. 

“So—like, that’s not how it works for guys like us,” Mat says. “Have you thought about it? Seriously?” 

“I mean—sort of?” 

“It’d be a thing, where we sat down and, like, explained it to people, and just—come on. We can’t, dude.” 

“We could,” Tito says. “We could just—do that.” 

“That’s not something you just  _ do,”  _ Mat says. “That’s—we’d have to—you know.” 

“What, like, come out?” Tito says, and Mat’s more relieved than he’d like to admit that Tito says the words first.

“Yeah,” he says. 

Tito’s quiet for a second. “And you’re not gonna do that.” 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Mat says. “Are you?”

“I mean, maybe?” Tito says. “I would think about it.” 

“Well, I have thought about it,” Mat says. “Like, it sucks, but I know I’m not gonna do that.”  

“Ever?” Tito asks, and he looks more sad than Mat is expecting. 

“At least, not my first season,” Mat says. “It’s… a risk.” 

“Is it really?” 

He sounds scared, and Mat suddenly feels awful, because it’s pretty clear that Tito doesn’t know the first thing about being a guy who likes guys and plays hockey. He doesn’t know what he can say to make Tito less scared, because he’s hardly any better, and he mostly deals with it by not thinking about it, but he figures he owes it to Tito to try. 

“I don’t know,” Mat says honestly. “It could be, I think.” 

“And you don’t want to find out firsthand,” Tito says. 

“Would you?” Mat says. “Or, do you?” 

“I don’t even know—” Tito shrugs. “I don’t know… like, what I am, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Mat says. 

“I don’t—it’s—I guess I wouldn’t want to either,” Tito says. 

“Yeah,” Mat says. “I’m sorry.” 

Tito shrugs. “You didn’t do anything.” 

“No, but—” Mat sighs. “I guess we shouldn’t… do this anymore?”

There’s a long beat before Tito says, “Probably,” sounding almost resigned.

Mat wants to cry, all of a sudden, but he’s not gonna let that happen, so he just shrugs and makes a vaguely apologetic face. “It was fun while it lasted.” 

“Definitely,” Tito says. 

There’s a second where Mat almost suggests they do it one last time—like, as a farewell tour, or whatever—but he doesn’t, because he’s not sure either of them could handle it. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Mat says, because space is the best choice, right now. 

Tito nods, and Mat stands up quietly, and it’s not really a big moment, except for how it feels like something final. 

Mat ignores that, though, and makes his way to the bathroom, telling himself that this was always going to happen, and he just has to keep moving forward.

***

Ending things with Tito—which, like, isn’t technically a breakup, but still feels like one anyway—is made easier by a lot of shitty circumstances, like Tito getting sent down. 

Mostly, Tito getting sent down sucks, because Tito is really fucking sad. It comes on the heels of another loss—a loss they’re carrying into the new year, which doesn’t really matter, but still doesn’t feel great—and even though things are weird between them, Mat can’t stand to see him like this, disappointed, deflated, dejected. 

“They’re sending me down,” Tito says, as they pack up the morning after being crushed by Colorado. It’s the first real thing either of them has said since Winnipeg. 

“I’m sorry,” Mat says awkwardly, and Tito actually tries to muster up a smile. It makes Mat feel kind of sick. 

“It’s alright,” Tito says. “It’s not really a surprise.” 

“Oh,” Mat says, and—like, maybe it hadn’t been, but he doesn’t try and critique Tito’s game too much. That’s not his job, and he’d gotten in the habit of not evaluating Tito—or Josh or even Dal Colle, for that matter—back when they were fighting for roster spots.  

“Like, they’ve been talking about it for a couple of weeks,” Tito says. “I knew this was coming.” 

“I didn’t realize,” Mat says. “You could’ve told me, man.” 

Tito looks at him for a second. “We don’t really talk about things.” 

And Mat feels a lot of things at that—anger, because, yeah, he’d skirted around the topic of  _ them,  _ but that doesn’t mean they never talked about real shit. There’s something about the way Tito says it, too, almost scornful, and sort of dismissive, like he wouldn’t have wanted to tell Mat what he was worrying about, and yeah, that’s Tito’s business, but still. It makes Mat feel like he was just—a distraction, maybe, something to take Tito’s mind off the hockey shit, and not an actual close friend, or anything, and—

“I’m just saying, you could’ve,” Mat says, and tries to ignore the way his brain is spiraling into fear that he means nothing to Tito at all, because it’s not true, and even if it is, Mat doesn’t have any right to be upset about it, probably. 

“It’s okay, honestly,” Tito says. “Maybe it’ll be good.” 

“For sure,” Mat says. 

“For my game, I mean, not just—” Tito cuts himself off. “Some… space, will probably help.” 

“Space,” Mat echoes. 

“Sorry,” Tito says. “You probably don’t care—”

“Hey,” Mat says, before he can stop himself, and he’s gonna protest that he  _ does  _ care, and that it’s not fair for Tito to assume he doesn’t, except—

Mat’s definitely not allowed to say any of that. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because Tito seems to pick up on it in the silence, this awful moment where they just stare at each other, unsure how to go back to not talking, because neither of them is ready for a conversation. 

“It’ll be nice to play with Sanger again,” Tito finally says. 

“Tell him I say hi,” Mat says. 

“Will do,” Tito says. 

And that’s the last conversation they have before Tito leaves for Bridgeport. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **coming up in ch. 5** (alt. title: _return to the long island marriott_ )  
> -hockey  
> -dante fabbro  
> -more hockey


	5. Chapter 5

So, like, it’s easier, because Tito’s not right there all the time, so Mat should, hypothetically, be thinking about him less. In reality, that’s not how things work out, because Mat ends up spending a lot of time thinking about how Tito isn’t there. It’s not really his finest moment, but whatever, the entire team is kind of a mess, and they can’t string together a win to save their lives. 

He also pays literal money to watch AHL games, because he might as well, even if the stream quality sucks and he’s not even watching it live, but still. He misses Tito, and it feels like he has too much space, all of a sudden, so when they drop three straight to start 2018, Mat figures he’s allowed to mope. 

It’s especially justified when Ladder gets injured, because when Mat sees him with the trainer after the game, it’s pretty clear that he’s gonna be out for a few games, which means Mat has a new winger, and more likely than not, it’s gonna be one of these guys. 

So, it’s research, he tells himself, and if research happens to include checking up on Tito, well. 

Somehow, it doesn’t occur to him that for an emergency recall, they’d want to go with a guy they trust at the NHL level, a guy who knows how to play well with the team. It doesn’t even occur to him, as he watches Tito on the ice and thinks that, at least in the AHL, Tito looks like an NHL player, and that Tito’s probably gonna get called up at the next opportunity. And when the obvious answer does pop into his head, he brushes it off, because—no, that makes sense to him, because it’s Tito, but they literally just sent him down, so he figures it’s gonna be someone else. 

In his defense, he doesn’t pay that much attention to figuring out who, because he’s also watching the Hockey Canada boys win gold at Worlds at the same time, so he can keep up with the group chat and give proper congratulations, and because he kind of needs to feel like someone got a win tonight. It’s exhausting, feeling like he’s constantly losing, and he knows it’s gonna turn around  soon, and that this streak will end, but still, he just feels kind of… defeated, being on a losing team, losing guys to injuries, trying to work out the whole Tito thing. 

So. Mat’s got a lot on his mind, is the point, and he’s not really expecting anything to go his way, and that’s maybe why he’s caught so off-guard when he bumps into Tito in the hallway of Northwell the day before they’re set to face the Devils. 

“Hi,” Mat says, and he kind of wonders if he’s hallucinating, but no, that’s Tito, with a shy, hesitant smile. 

“Hey,” Tito says. “It’s—an emergency recall, I’m only back for a bit—” 

“But you’re… back? For now?” Mat asks. 

“Yeah,” Tito says. 

“That’s—good,” Mat says. “How was Bridgeport?”

“It was good,” Tito says, and he means it, Mat can tell. “I think it really—it was getting stressful, trying to stay up. I liked playing more minutes.” 

“For sure,” Mat says. “You—I’m glad it’s working out.” 

“It is,” Tito says. 

Mat’s not sure whether or not it’s appropriate to tell Tito that he’s been keeping up with his game, but he decides against it. “I should probably—” 

“So should I,” Tito says quickly. “But I think they’re putting me with you tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see you then?” 

“They are?” Mat says, perking up without meaning to, because—okay, Mat thinks a lot about hockey, and he thinks a lot about Tito, and those two things have overlapped. Tito’s good at hockey, has the kind of speed Mat’s always wanted to have on his line, and they’re good at reading each other. 

“Yeah,” Tito says. “Could be fun, right?” 

“For sure,” Mat says, and he’s still feeling a little dazed, but also excited, kind of. “Later, then.” 

“Later,” Tito says, and Mat only looks over his shoulder a couple times at Tito’s retreating form, which, in his opinion, is some pretty impressive restraint. 

***

Here’s a thing Mat realizes, with Tito on his wing: he is nowhere near as over him as he thought he was. 

Tito scores. Tito buries Mat’s feed, because Tito is, of course, exactly where he needs to be. He fits as well on Mat’s line as Mat could’ve hoped, and Mat feels the goal in his gut. He’s hooked, hooked on this line, on this game, on the plays they’re making and the way they’re reading each other; he can feel the raw chemistry of it all coming together, and it feels fucking amazing. 

For all that Mat’s been doing pretty well for himself this season, he’s never felt something click like this. He’s told himself time and time again that things aren’t automatic, that he needs to wait to find his feet and adjust in the meantime, but this is the kind of falling into place that you can’t make up. It feels fucking fake, how good this is, how good  _ they  _ are, and— 

It all has to stay on the ice. 

Mat wants to leave it out there, wishes it didn’t feel bad and downright unnatural to avoid Tito’s eyes in the locker room after being near-desperate to get his hands on him in the celly, but the fact is, Mat can’t draw a line that neat. Hockey might be his job, but it’s also his life, and Tito’s his teammate, but he’s also  _ Tito,  _ and it’s just—it’s not possible for Mat to play like that with him and move past all the other shit. 

Tito gets reassigned to Bridgeport right after the game, but it’s pretty clear that as soon as the bye week is over, he’s coming back up, probably back on Mat’s wing, and that means Mat has five days to figure out how to handle the fact that Tito isn’t going to stop being a problem anytime soon. 

***

Mat doesn’t even consider going somewhere tropical for the bye week. He just goes home. 

He’s missed his family like hell, and he doesn’t even realize how exhausting everything’s been until he falls asleep in his bed, and wakes up twelve hours later to the sound of his mom and sister bickering. It’s so familiar he could cry, and maybe he should be past getting homesick, but it’s been a really intense few months, so he figures he can’t really be blamed for jumping out of bed, going downstairs, and giving each of them a long hug.

They stop arguing pretty quickly after that, which is an added bonus. 

There’s a difference between having his parents in town and actually being in his house. Like, it’s not like he’d had to host his parents, or anything, but still, his life is in New York, and theirs isn’t. Being back in Coquitlam means he’s a full-time son and older brother, which is nice, if not a little suffocating. 

It’s a really good distraction from the whole Tito thing, though. Tito is a long distance friend in Mat’s BC life, so the only things around here that really remind him of Tito are vague flashbacks to texting him on the couch, or waking up to a notification that he’d mentioned him in a tweet. 

Those flashbacks are happening a lot more than usual, but it’s more bearable than actually being around him all the time. 

Mat hasn’t had this much free time in recent memory, and it doesn’t take long for him to start feeling restless with it. He works out a little, watches pretty much every game and piece of commentary that he can find on sports besides hockey, and goes on a ton of errands with his mom, even lets her try and teach him to cook. 

Everyone else has things to do during the day most of the time, though, and it’s not like they can take a week off just because Mat’s home, so he has to amuse himself, which means that halfway through the week, he ends up watching  _ Friends  _ at the Fabbro household, which makes him weirdly mopey, and he can’t place why, until there’s some joke that he distinctly remembers Tito laughing at— 

And, right, there’s all the sadness and anger he’s been trying to ignore. 

“Hey,” he says to Dante, “Can we watch something else?” 

“After this episode?” Dante says. 

And that’s a reasonable request, right now, except Mat’s mood is already weird, and it’s only gonna get weirder the more they watch. “Or, like, now.” 

“What’s your problem, dude?” Dante says, which kills any chance at all of Mat getting through this weird bout of sadness unnoticed.

He sighs. “Sorry, I’m just—shit’s been off, lately.” 

“You mean, with the team?”

“Not really,” Mat says. “I mean, that’s been—less than ideal, but it’s not—it’s a personal thing.” 

“Oh,” Dante says, and Mat expects the conversation to be over, but then he says, “Do you wanna, like, talk about it?”

Mat blinks. He and Dante don’t tend to talk about personal stuff, but if he’s offering, he must hear how stressed out Mat is in his voice. “It’s… kind of complicated,” Mat says. 

“I’ve got time,” Dante says, and it’s awkward and a little clumsy, but definitely genuine.

“Okay,” Mat says. “Uh, so, before I—there’s just—there’s something you should probably know first, and it’s not a big deal, so don’t freak out about it.” 

“I won’t,” Dante says. 

“Cool,” Mat says. “So, um.” He looks around the room, and he can feel the words on the tip of his tongue, knows what he has to say, but they get caught in his throat, and he hates that, because it’s not like he’s scared to do this, or anything. This has always been the worst part of it—the fact that it feels more difficult than it has any right to be, and the fact that no matter how much he accepts this about himself, putting a name to it hasn’t ever felt right. 

“Mat?” Dante prompts.

“I’m gay,” Mat says, before he can second guess himself any more. “Please don’t make this weird.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and Mat wonders if this was a mistake, but then Dante speaks. 

“Okay, y’know, that makes sense,” Dante says. 

“It does?” Mat asks, feeling a little confused, but mostly relieved that the hard part is over.

“I mean, yeah,” Dante says. “So you’re gay, that’s… chill.” 

“Chill,” Mat echoes.

“Or—I don’t know, what am I supposed to say?” 

Mat shrugs. “Beats me. I don’t do this a lot, dude.” 

“Wait, am I the first?” 

“I mean—no, but—”

“Okay,” Dante says. “Okay, so you’re just—telling me.”

“Yes,” Mat says, trying to be patient. “Can we move on?” 

“Alright,” Dante says. “So, you’re gay.”

“Right, and I’ve been hooking up with a guy—”

“Wait,  _ what?”  _

“If you keep doing that, we’re gonna be here for a while,” Mat says, and Dante nods. “Okay, so, he’s on the team, and—” 

“Dude,” Dante says. “That’s a fucking bombshell to drop, and you know it.” 

Mat sighs. “I can’t, like, tell you who it is.” 

“Why not?” 

“Think, for, like, three seconds,” Mat says. 

Dante looks up, considering. “Alright, fair enough.” 

Mat nods. “Anyway, we’ve been hooking up, and—I like him, and he likes me, and we can’t date, and it just—I don’t know, it’s annoying.” 

“Annoying?” Dante says. 

“I mean, it fucking sucks,” Mat says. “But, whatever.” 

“So why can’t you date?” Dante asks. 

“Because—like, we can’t?” Mat says. “We’re teammates, and it would be hard enough to keep it on the down-low, and, like—what if we break up, right?”

“So you can, but you just—” 

“Don’t tell me that I just don’t want to, you don’t know—” 

Dante puts his hands up, defensive. “Let me finish,” he says. “You’re allowed to decide what is and isn’t worth it, but you just—decided it’s not worth it to get what you want. Like, it’s a cost-benefit analysis, right?” 

“It’s not—” Mat rubs a hand over his face. “Listen, I’m not asking for advice. You asked why I was in a bad mood, and I’m telling you.”

“If you’re this unhappy, you should do something about it,” Dante says. 

“I am,” Mat says. “I’m coming home and trying to get my mind off of things.” 

“Okay, but if you seriously can’t date, you have to actually end things.” 

“I did,” Mat says. “We’re not hooking up anymore.” 

“If you like someone, and you like, truly believe that dating them isn’t possible, you’re not gonna be able to just get your mind off of it,” Dante says. “You’ve got a week, use it to mourn.” 

Mat makes a what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about face. “He’s not  _ dead.” _

“It’s a sad situation. Be sad.” 

“Why do you want me to be sad?”

“I don’t, but you’re telling me the happy option isn’t possible. You’re in limbo, dude.” 

“So you’re saying I should be sad?”

“I mean, it’s heartbreak, right?” Dante says. 

Mat sputters a little. “It’s not—don’t be so fucking dramatic, jesus, it’s not like I’m in love, or anything.”

“Whatever it is, you’re gonna have to get over it, if you’re not gonna let it happen, so.” 

Mat hates how nonchalant Dante sounds, and he focuses on that instead of what he actually says, because— 

Like, sure, shit with Tito sucks, but it’s not like any of that is going away, even if Mat spends the next three days doing nothing but crying over bad movies and eating ice cream straight out of the carton, or whatever people do to get over shit. Maybe Mat wants it to stop hurting so much, but this isn’t a whirlwind kind of thing that he can get over by the end of bye week. It’s gonna be a process, because when you spend months building something with someone—even if that thing is strange and undefined—it’ll take some time to untangle this, especially considering that Mat has no intention of caring about Tito any less. 

“That’s shit advice,” Mat says, because it is, and also because it’s making him think about the reality of what it will be like to actually be over the whole Tito thing—like, fully over it—and it’s… not something he’s sure he’s ready to face. 

Whatever. Bye week is a perfect time for a masochistic streak, and Mat has a few more days to wallow, which is different from mourning, because mourning implies some sort of ending, and the thing with Tito—

It’s not ending anytime soon.

“It’s your call, man,” Dante says. “I’m just letting you know what I would do.” 

“Your input is being considered,” Mat says dryly. “Forget I said anything, I’m here for television, not advice.” 

“You’re here for friendship,” Dante corrects, but they put on an old  _ Simpsons  _ episode anyway, because Mat doesn’t have any hangups about that show, at least.

***

So, Mat comes back from the bye week with a little more experience with the whole coming out thing, and still no clue what to do about the Tito thing.

But hockey is hockey, and Tito’s on his wing again before Mat really knows how to handle it, and, unfortunately, the results speak for themselves.

Mat would like to say that his second five-point night happens because he channels all the energy he would have spent thinking about Tito into the game instead, but that would be a huge fucking lie. 

The actual reason it happens is probably—well, because Mat is good, and because he works hard, and because all he can think about is Tito, which is honestly helpful, in this scenario, because Tito’s on his wing. It doesn’t mean great things for Mat’s sanity in the future, but he’s happy to squeeze a few games out of it. 

And it’s a good win—a great one, for both of them, a confirmation of the fact that Tito does belong up with the team and on Mat’s line, because he really is a fucking great player, so Mat’s expecting—something, anything, really, when they’re all out after the game, but instead all he gets is Tito very clearly avoiding him, which, like—it’s jarring, going from feeling like he’s on top of the world to feeling so fucking low, and he hates that Tito manages to do it to him without even trying. Like, Mat’s kind of cocky, but he’s also earned it, built up a very grounded kind of confidence that’s not easily shaken, usually. 

So it’s weird that all he has to do is look at Tito, and suddenly, five points in one game feels like it doesn’t even matter, when Tito can’t even look at him. It’s nice, sure, but honestly, Tito’s smile is nicer, and Mat really misses it. 

It’s probably strange to be sad-drinking in the wake of a pretty decisive victory coming out of a week off, because the team—they all feel refreshed and re-energized, Mat can tell, but he just can’t bring himself to be quite as happy as the rest of them. He’s figures it’s fine to withdraw into himself, though, because most of the attention is being directed at Dal Colle, which means Mat is off the hook for being sociable, which is probably good, because trying to have a good time sounds exhausting, right now. 

He intends to just lie low, because he doesn’t want to be a buzzkill, but it turns into—well, it’s not quite sulking, but it’s pretty close, enough that Ebs notices and spends about five minutes giving him looks that are equal parts accusing and concerned, before he walks over and takes a seat next to Mat, his eyebrow already raised. 

Mat sighs. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” Ebs says, then nudges Mat’s knee with his own. “Talk to me, man.” 

“I don’t have much to say,” Mat says. 

“Nothing at all?” Ebs says. “Not even the killer game you just had?”

“I mean,” Mat shrugs. “It was a game. Keep moving forward, right?”

“Jesus, rookies these days really don’t like to have fun.” 

“I’m not really in the mood,” Mat says. 

“Clearly,” Ebs says. “I’m just wondering why you’re so sad when you should be over the fucking moon.” 

“It’s just—some other shit, don’t worry about it.” 

“Too late,” Ebs deadpans, but Mat can tell he’s being more serious than he sounds. 

“It’s… stuff,” Mat says. “Personal stuff, or whatever.” 

“Personal stuff,” Ebs echoes. 

Mat nods. “Yeah.” 

Ebs seems to consider that for a moment, and Mat’s hoping that’ll be the end of it, but after a second, he speaks. 

“Listen, kid, I don’t know who you’re moping over—” 

“‘m not moping,” Mat says, even though he kind of is. “And don’t call me kid.” 

Ebs waves him off. “Whatever. I’m just saying, unless you’ve done everything you can to get what you want, you’re not allowed to complain.” 

“You’re the one bugging me with questions,” Mat says. 

“I’m not pressing you for details,” Ebs says. “Look, you and your best friend just played some beautiful fucking hockey together, and you’re sitting here looking like your dog just died. So I’m guessing that the only thing standing between you and having a good night is you.” 

It’s not a fair conclusion, and Mat’s kind of annoyed—what the fuck does Jordan Eberle know about this shit—but it’s also… it’s not wrong, really, because Mat’s only in this situation because he had to go and catch feelings for Tito. 

“Shit’s weird,” Mat says with a shrug. 

“Ah,” Ebs says. “So you’re fighting?”

“We’re… something,” Mat says, and he has to stop himself from wincing. “Fighting, sure. It’s not a big deal.” 

“It clearly is,” Ebs says. 

“Can you just butt out?” Mat snaps, and he feels mildly guilty, but Ebs appears unphased. 

“I’m your friend,” Ebs says. “You’re clearly going through some shit, and it’s cool if you don’t want to tell me, but if it’s because you’re fighting with Beau, then just—remember that you guys make each other happy, so whatever’s happening there—” 

“Nothing’s—” 

“Again, not asking for any details,” Ebs says, and if Mat didn’t know better, he would think the look Ebs is giving him is knowing. Which, like, it definitely is, a little, which means that Mat’s gotten worse about keeping his shit under wraps. Fucking feelings. “I don’t need to know anything you don’t want to share. If you’re having some big secret fight, or something, then, by all means, go ahead, anything that happens between the two of you is your business, whatever that may be.”

“Then what are you trying to say?” Mat asks. 

“That you can be sad, and no one has to know why, or you can be happy, and no one has to know why.” 

Mat just stares at Ebs, for a second.

“Let me know if I’m way off base,” Ebs says. 

Mat blinks, then shakes his head. “No, you’re—I don’t like keeping secrets.” 

“That’s fair,” Ebs says. 

“And I don’t like telling people secrets once I’ve been keeping them,” Mat says. “I don’t want to have to explain myself to people.”

“I get that,” Ebs says, chuckling, kind of wry. “But I think there’s a middle ground.” 

“Is there?” 

“I mean, I found one,” Ebs says. 

Mat takes a second to process that. 

“Right,” he says, after a second. “Right, I’m just gonna—I’m gonna find him, I think.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Ebs says. 

“Yeah, I’m… done fighting with him, I think,” Mat says, kind of buzzing. He’s not sure when that started. “Thank you.” 

“Any time,” Ebs says. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” Mat says before he stumbles away, suddenly desperate to talk to Tito. 

He should probably dwell more on the Ebs thing, and whether he actually just had the conversation he thinks he had, but regardless of what they’d been talking about, the takeaway is the same. 

The Tito thing—it’s not going away. 

And it’s not the kind of “not going away” where Mat can just power through the fact that he’s fucking miserable, keep it all inside and tell himself it’s worth it. Like, there’s something real, there, something that is Mat-and-Tito even if they’re not doing anything about it, so there’s no good reason for Mat to make his life harder and turn that into something that makes his life worse. 

He sees Tito before Tito sees him, and he just—he takes a second, takes in the way Tito’s hunched shoulders and sad expression actually hurt him. It’s probably a little absurd, that Mat cares this much, but it also says something, probably—like, if it’s this easy for them to bring each other down, then it should be even easier to make each other happy, even if shit’s hard.

But that’s the thing: things aren’t easy. Like, maybe being with Tito would be hard, but not being with him is hard, and hockey is hard, and being in the NHL is hard, and living away from home is hard, and life is hard. Things that make you happy take work, and Mat had somehow forgotten that, but he’s always been willing to put in the effort. This isn’t any different; Mat knows that this could be good, because it’s Tito, and just—    

Mat really likes him, and of  _ course  _ that matters more than anything else. It was dumb of Mat to think that it didn’t.

So, before he can second guess himself, Mat makes his way over to Tito. He doesn’t look up when he gets there, so Mat coughs, and Tito gives him a small nod and does something with his mouth like he wants to smile but doesn’t have the energy.  

Mat hates that, but he doesn’t let himself get discouraged, just takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Hey,” he says. “You played well tonight.” 

“Thanks,” Tito says, still not looking at Mat.  

“We’re good on the same line,” he says. “I really like playing with you.”

Tito sighs. “It was a fun game,” he says, sounding miserable, and that’s when Mat decides that enough is enough. 

“And we both feel like crap, for some reason,” he says. 

Tito glances at him before looking back at his drink. “I mean, what do you expect?”

“I guess that’s fair,” Mat says, and then he shakes his head. “I don’t like this.” 

“Well, neither do I,” Tito says. 

“Then let’s cut it out,” Mat says. “C’mon, let’s celebrate, or whatever. We kicked ass.” 

“I’m not really feeling super celebratory,” Tito says. 

“Because of—”

“This, yeah,” Tito says. “Sorry, just—like, it was both of us, y’know? Like, we’re good together, and that’s great, but it also really fucking sucks, a little bit.” 

“Well, then, don’t let it suck,” Mat says. 

“Wow, I never thought of it that way,” Tito says, rolling his eyes. “You’re right, sorry, and while I’m at it, I’ll get over you, make it easier for both of us.” 

“Tito—” 

“It’s fine, no one is here,” he says. 

“That’s not what I was gonna say,” Mat says. “Just—I don’t know, maybe this is all just… stupid.” 

“What?” Tito says, looking skeptical. 

“I mean, we both hate this,” Mat says. “So why don’t we—I don’t know.” He looks up, searching for the words. “Like, maybe I was being an idiot, before.” 

“When?” 

“When I—” He cuts himself off when someone walks by, waits until they’re out of earshot before speaking again. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot.” 

“Okay,” Tito says, cautious. 

“Have you?” 

“Have I what?” 

“Have you been thinking about it,” Mat says. 

“I mean, yeah,” Tito says. “Not constantly, but—” 

“I don’t mean how shitty things are now,” Mat says. “I mean, like—what it would be like if we just went for what we want, y’know?” 

“Do you even know what you want?” Tito says. 

“I’m still working on the specifics,” Mat says honestly. “But I’ve figured out the most important part.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“You,” Mat says. “That’s the thing. Most of what I want, it’s just—you.” 

Tito doesn’t say anything, just kind of stares at Mat, and Mat’s heart is going, like, a million miles a second, all of a sudden, because they haven’t talked about this in weeks, and what if Tito’s changed his mind, or decided it’s not worth it, or— 

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” Tito says, and then he cracks a small smile. “Just the two of us.”    

Mat’s entire world freezes, and everything goes fuzzy at the corners, but, like, in a good way. 

“I’d like that,” he says, and slowly, the two of them make their way out into the night. 

***

There’s no good reason for them to be back at the Long Island Marriott, because, in Mat’s opinion, there’s no good reason for anyone to be here, ever. But he and Tito needed somewhere to go where they could be alone, and they wanted to be back on the Island, and Mat’s done a lot of growing up, but he’s not quite at the level of adulthood where he’s comfortable finding a random hotel and checking into a room for the night. 

In any event, it’s where they end up, and Mat kind of feels like they’ve come full circle. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Tito asks, as they stand around the corner from the main entrance, the Coli in sight. 

Mat shrugs. “I don’t know. We should probably talk, right?”

“That seems like a smart idea,” Tito says. 

There’s a beat of awkward silence, which Mat should have anticipated, but he tries to think about what he should tell Tito, not really settling on anything coherent before Tito breaks it.

“I kissed a guy when I was in Bridgeport.” 

Mat blinks. “Huh?” 

“Just—to see what it would be like,” Tito says. “I didn’t, like, do anything else with him.” 

“So you just found a random guy?” Mat asks. 

“I mean, a friend,” Tito says. “I wanted to see if—I don’t know, it was probably dumb.” 

“A friend,” Mat echoes. “You mean, one of the guys on the team?” 

“It was seriously just—a buddies thing. Totally experimental, I don’t even think he’s… like that.” Tito winces. “Uh, y’know. Into other guys.” 

“Sounds like a good friend,” Mat says, and then, after a second, “Wait, was it Sanger?” 

Tito doesn’t say anything at that, just stares very pointedly at the ground. 

“Oh my god, it was Sanger,” Mat says. “You made out with Josh Ho-Sang.”

“We didn’t  _ make out, _ we just—kissed. For a second.” 

“Still,” Mat says. 

“Please don’t be mad,” Tito says. “It wasn’t—”

“I’m not,” Mat says, shaking his head, and then he huffs out a laugh. “I’m mostly just impressed, honestly.” 

“He was just trying to help,” Tito says. “I was kind of having a crisis.” 

“You mean, about being into guys?” 

“I guess,” Tito says. “I was trying to figure out if I am.” 

“Makes sense,” Mat says. “Well, uh, did you… come to any conclusions?” 

“I mean, it was alright,” Tito says. “And he’s—good-looking, and stuff, but it wasn’t—it still just felt like I was kissing my friend.”    

“Oh,” Mat says.

“Which—it was kind of like, when kids play spin the bottle, or whatever? It wasn’t that different from kissing a girl I’m not into, I guess.” 

“That makes sense,” Mat says.  

“Yeah,” Tito says. “Way different from kissing you, though.” 

Mat lets the comment sit with him for a second, tries to figure out what to say in response. 

“I’ve… pretty much only hooked up with guys before,” is what he lands on. “No one but you since—I mean, like, since Juniors, but—guys around the Dub, and at tournaments and stuff.”

“So you’re—” Tito starts, but then he cuts himself off. 

“Yeah,” Mat says. “Like that.” 

“You’re gay,” Tito says. “Or, I don’t know if that’s—” 

“No, yeah, I’m gay,” Mat says. “That’s the word for it. I just don’t say it that much.” 

“Why?”

“I mean—I’m fine with liking guys, and with not being into girls, but—I don’t know. It feels weird, I guess.” He shrugs. “I wish it didn’t. It’s kind of fucked up.” 

“Not being sure?” Tito asks. 

Mat shakes his head. “No, it’s not—it’s fine not being sure. Like, half the reason I got laid in high school was guys not being sure, but—I dunno.” He sighs. “I guess it’s something I’ve known for a while, so I wish I was more—like, not that I’m not okay with it, but—I’m not as on-board as I’d like to be, sometimes.” 

“Is that why you wanted to stop?” Tito asks, kind of quiet. 

“No,” Mat says. “Or, maybe, but, like—it’s more about hockey than anything else, I guess.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like—when I said we couldn’t actually be anything, I was really fucking wrong,” Mat says. “We can do whatever we want, y’know? Like, even if all we ever do is hook up when we’re on the road and never tell anyone about it, we’ll still know that it’s more than that, and—that just fucking sucks, because if we didn’t play hockey, it would be different.”  

“You mean, it would just be… us,” Tito says. 

“Yeah, and we wouldn’t have to think about it all the goddamn time, but—” he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.” 

“So what are you saying?” Tito asks. 

“I thought we’d just have to, like, be all secretive and miserable until things change, and then we see where we stand, but—that’s fucking dumb, right? We can do this on our terms,” Mat says. 

“Do what?”

“You tell me,” Mat says. “I told you what I feel, and that hasn’t changed.”   

“But you still wouldn’t want to tell people,” Tito says. 

“I mean, honestly?” Mat says. “I don’t really know.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I thought I didn’t want to tell anyone, because it’s just—it’s a fucking annoying conversation to have, I guess, but everyone keeps calling me out for being sad all the fucking time, and it’s not something that’s just gonna go away, so, like, why not be happy, right?” 

“And you think this could make you happy,” Tito says. 

“I know you make me happy,” Mat says. “And I told you, I like you a lot.” 

“But how much of a secret would it have to be?” Tito asks. 

“I don’t know,” Mat says. “I’m not saying no to telling some people, though.” 

“I’m not saying you have to,” Tito says. “I just—I want to know what to expect.” 

“What if I said we could figure it out as we go?” Mat asks. 

Tito nods. “That’s probably the best answer you could give.” He smiles, and it’s small, but it’s significant, Mat thinks.

“So does that mean you’re down to try?” he asks. 

“I’m down to… something,” Tito says. “To try something, yeah.” After a beat, he adds, “What are we trying?”   

“What?” Mat says, his brain suddenly more giddy static sounds than thoughts. 

“I don’t know, are we, like—together? Seeing each other? Do we just not call it anything?” 

“We can call it something, if you want,” Mat says, because he’d pretty much do anything if Tito wanted it, right now. 

“What do you think?” Tito asks. 

“I don’t really know,” Mat says. “Can I—” He grabs Tito’s hand, because he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t touch Tito soon, he’s gonna jump out of his skin. It’s warm, and Mat knows his palms are sweaty, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed by it. 

“Mat?” Tito says. 

“Call it whatever,” Mat says. “Just—I’m all in, yeah? I’m not gonna be casual about this.” 

“So you’re cool with not doing stuff with other people,” Tito says. 

Mat wants to laugh at that, but he settles on a too-wide grin. “I’m way past exclusive, man.”  

“Really,” Tito says, smiling back, and it’s probably the greatest thing Mat’s ever seen.

“Oh yeah,” Mat says. “We’re talking, like,  _ commitment  _ right now, dude.”

“Well then, how much commitment are you down with?” 

“Uh, right this second?” Mat says. “Probably too much, so I’m just gonna kiss you now before I embarrass myself more.” 

“Okay,” Tito says, laughing for a fraction of a second, and when Mat cuts him off with a kiss, he’s still kind of smiling, which is pretty great, in Mat’s opinion. 

It’s cold out, colder than the last time they did this, but Mat’s much more reluctant to go inside this time, because he doesn’t want to take his mouth off of Tito’s. He doesn’t even have a room here anymore, which they probably should’ve thought about before choosing this place, but the way he’s feeling right now isn’t the kind of thing he could’ve possibly planned for in advance. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been happy like this before—everything’s so good, and it’s only going to get better, and Tito is fucking everywhere, on his skin, in his ear, under Mat’s fingertips.

It goes from zero to indecent pretty quickly, and Mat would be embarrassed about it under normal circumstances, but he just successfully confronted his feelings, which means these are most certainly not normal circumstances, so it’s Tito who has to break it off, because Mat’s pretty useless right now.

“Okay,” Tito says. “We should—go somewhere private.” 

“Definitely,” Mat says, but he kisses Tito again, which is probably counterproductive. The practical side of his brain has been off since the second he grabbed Tito’s hand, honestly.

“So we could—wait, one sec, I had an idea before,” Tito says, pulling away. “Can I see your wallet?” 

Mat doesn’t question it, just hands it over without thinking, which is probably not a smart move, but whatever, they both have more money than they know what to do with, so Tito’s probably not gonna, like, steal his credit card.

As it turns out, Tito’s idea involves Mat’s old Marriott keycard, because of something about the way the team books hotel rooms for prospects, so after they make sure they look decent enough to walk into the lobby, Mat waits by the elevator bank for Tito to get the card reprogrammed by the concierge, or something. 

Honestly, the details are kind of fuzzy, and Mat doesn’t really care, because the point is, he doesn’t have to wait a long time before he’s making out with Tito in an elevator, and then in an empty hallway, and then, finally, in private. 

Mat has never been this excited to be in a suite in the Long Island Marriott in his entire goddamn  _ life.  _

***

The next morning, Mat wakes up in bed alone, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, which means that, for once, Tito woke up first. 

And also: Tito. 

Like, Tito is here, in this hotel room, a mirror image of the one Mat spent 8 weeks in, and Mat can hear him humming, buried beneath the sound of running water but definitely there. 

And Tito is definitely here, and last night definitely happened, and Mat and Tito are definitely— 

Mat doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, because he’s pretty sure they hadn’t come to any agreements on what exactly to call it, but they’re a thing, and that’s enough to get Mat to smile, embarrassingly wide and distinctly un-Mat-like. 

He makes himself get it together before he climbs out of bed, but it’s fucking hard, because he’s really, really happy. 

But, he manages, because he’s still Mat, and he can pull off smooth, even when he feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. 

He knocks on the bathroom door, because why not. “Yo,” he says. 

“Morning,” Tito calls through the door, and the smile is back like it never left. 

“Are you singing?” Mat asks. 

“I’m having a good morning,” Tito says, not missing a beat. “I’m surprised you’re not singing.” 

“Fair enough,” Mat says, laughing. “Can I come in?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Are you asking to join me in the shower?”

And Mat actually hadn’t been, but. “Are you inviting me to?”

“Maybe,” Tito says, in a way that definitely means ‘yes.’ 

“I’m coming in,” Mat says, opening the door. 

The bathroom is full of steam, and he can’t see anything in detail through the frosted glass of the shower door, but the blurry outline of Tito’s body is enough to get Mat to strip off his clothes as quickly as possible and climb in. 

“Hey there,” Tito says, looking Mat up and down shamelessly, and there’s this twinkle in his eye that’s almost mischievous. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” Mat says, blushing a little bit, which is so unnecessary, considering the number of times Tito’s seen him naked. “Why is the water so hot?”

“It’s a shower, Mathew,” Tito says. 

“It hurts,” Mat says, even though Tito’s blocking most of the spray. “How are you comfortable like this?”

Tito shrugs. “Just am.” 

“Can you turn it down?” Mat asks. “I don’t want to be boiled alive.” 

Tito turns the knob. “How’s that?”

Mat waits a few seconds, and sure enough, the water is considerably colder. “Okay, not  _ that  _ much.” 

“You’re such a diva,” Tito says, sighing, and Mat rolls his eyes, because Tito definitely made it too cold on purpose. 

“Let me,” Mat says, reaching around Tito, who doesn’t even move out of the way, and at first, Mat thinks he’s being a dick, except then he realizes that it’s also kind of a move, and he smiles and shakes his head, but still enjoys the way they end up pressed together. 

“How’s it now?” Tito asks. 

“Give me a sec,” Mat says, and Tito starts to run his hands up and down Mat’s sides. 

It’s a little too hot for Mat’s liking, still, but at least he can comfortably stand under the stream as Tito kisses him, slow and lazy, like he’s savoring it just because he can. Mat’s on board with this pace of things, so he kisses back and doesn’t try to speed things up, just touches Tito because he likes the way the wet skin feels under his fingers. They’re both a little turned on, and Tito’s dick is, like, pressing into Mat’s hip, and Mat just sorts of rocks against it, listens to the small moans that keep escaping Tito’s mouth and just enjoys it all, finally getting to have this without any complications or confusion, just simple want. It feels familiar and new at the same time, Tito slowly coming apart against Mat, and Mat just closes his eyes and lets himself think about how good this is. 

Mat lets his hands wander down to Tito’s ass, and Tito gasps, ruts a little faster against Mat. “Fuck, Mat.” 

“You’re so hot like this,” Mat says, and Tito groans into Mat’s shoulder. 

“I’m close,” Tito says. 

“Fuck yeah,” Mat says, then pulls Tito in even closer, his fingers digging into Tito’s ridiculously firm glutes. “C’mon, fuck.” 

“I’m gonna—” Tito says, then thrusts against Mat a few more times before he comes, gripping Mat tightly before going kind of limp. 

Mat just keeps on holding him, and waits for him to catch his breath.

“Wow,” Tito says, his face still tucked against Mat. “Showering together might be the best idea I’ve ever had.” He pulls away and gives Mat a smile, almost shy. “I’d apologize for the mess, but—” he gestures to the showerhead. 

Mat laughs, a little breathless himself, even though Tito had really done most of the hard work on that one. “Definitely convenient.” 

“Seriously,” Tito says. “Soap’s already here and everything.” 

Mat turns around and grabs the bar from the dish it’s sitting in, because he does need to do normal, non-sexual shower things, too, but before he gets a chance to clean himself up, Tito grabs the soap from his hand and says, “Let me.”

“What?” Mat asks, as Tito starts to scrub at Mat’s chest. 

“I wanna lather you up,” Tito says. “That cool?”

“You don’t have to,” Mat says.

Tito shrugs. “It’s a good excuse to touch you, though.” He nudges Mat to turn around, and Mat complies. 

“You don’t need an excuse,” Mat says.

“Still, this way, we kill two birds with one stone,” Tito says. 

“What do you mean?” Mat asks, bracing his arms against the wall as Tito reaches around to run the soap down Mat’s torso. 

“I mean,” Tito says, and then he grips Mat’s half-hard dick with a soapy hand. It’s slick, and it feels good, and Mat lets out a moan. “You can get clean while you get off.” 

Mat laughs, this short, breathless thing that’s almost a gasp, as Tito starts to stroke him. “How long did it take you to think up that one?”

“It was spontaneous, I swear,” Tito says, 

“Sure,” Mat says, and he really doesn’t believe that Tito hasn’t been waiting for the perfect moment to drop that line, but he’s not gonna question it when Tito’s hand is on his dick. He knows when to pick his battles.  

They end up taking a very long shower, and it takes them forever to dry off, but that’s mostly because they’re both reluctant to put get dressed, and every time Mat tries to put on boxers, Tito distracts him by kissing him. 

Or, maybe Mat just gets distracted and kisses Tito. He’s not very sure; all the kissing stuff is more or less a mutual decision, if he’s being perfectly honest.

But, they avoid being late for practice, dodge chirps from the guys about the fact that neither of them made it home last night, and every time Mat looks over his shoulder, Tito’s already looking at him, which makes Mat’s heart do something he’d probably be embarrassed about, if he could bring himself to be embarrassed about things, but he can’t, especially not when Tito’s eyes look the way they do, and his smile looks the way it does. 

So, like, it’s a pretty good morning, all things considered.

***

They win in Montreal the next day, and it feels fucking amazing. 

Tito gets a goal, for one, which—like, hockey is a team sport, so obviously everyone is happy,  but it feels personal. This is Tito’s city, and Mat is Tito’s—well, his something, but the point is that he’s  _ Tito’s,  _ and the fact that the two of them hit the ice together and scored feels way too much like destiny for Mat to tell himself it’s just a lucky break. Maybe it’s dumb and naive to take this as some sort of confirmation, but it just feels too unreal, too magical. 

Which is maybe just Tito’s smile, but on the other hand, there’s probably some kind of real magic in the smile of someone who just scored in front of his hometown. 

It’s amazing, is Mat’s point. 

Mat gets a goal too, and Tito gives him shit for trying to steal the show, but Mat knows he’s joking, because this isn’t Mat’s show, it’s  _ their  _ show, their line that all the commentators are talking about, Mat’s ridiculous season and Tito’s amazing comeback together. 

Mat knows that three games doesn’t mean their line is some unstoppable force of nature, but at the very least, it’s a wave of excitement he’s down to ride, especially if it means he gets to spend his postgame interviews gushing about Tito in two languages. 

“I can’t believe you volunteered to speak French,” Tito says, once the media has cleared away. “No one asked you to.” 

“I dunno, I don’t get to speak it much,” Mat says. “I like French. It’s a good language.” 

“Really,” Tito says in French, raising an eyebrow. “Why don’t you speak it more?”

“We live in New York,” Mat says. 

“You could speak it to me,” Tito says, and it’s kind of suggestive. Mat can’t tell if he’s joke-flirting or actually flirting, but he plays along anyway. 

“If there’s anything private I need to say to you, I will,” Mat says. 

“What private things would you have to tell me?” Tito says, and he’s smiling now. 

“We could talk about your goal earlier,” Mat says. “Or my goal. Or both, actually.”

“You know I’m always down to talk about hockey,” Tito says. 

“And you always have such nice things to say,” Mat shoots back. “I bet they’d sound even nicer in French.”

“You mean about your goal?”

“I mean about a lot of things,” Mat says. “My goal could be one of those things.” 

“Well,” Tito says, and then he leans in and whispers in Mat’s ear, like he’s telling him a secret,  _ “allons-y á la crémerie.” _

“What?” Mat laughs, as Tito pulls away. 

“I want to go out for ice cream,” Tito says. “We won, let’s celebrate.” 

“Are ice cream places even open right now?” Mat asks. 

“We’ll find one,” Tito says. “C’mon, it’ll be my treat.” 

“I can pay,” Mat says. 

“But I want to pay,” Tito says, raising his eyebrows, and Mat’s not gonna, like, swoon, but he comes pretty damn close. 

“Okay, I see how it is,” Mat says, grinning. “Fine, I’ll let you buy me something sweet.”

They successfully beg off going out with the guys, mostly because Tito plays the hometown card, and when they start to question why he’s taking Mat out and no one else, Ebs intervenes with, “Let them do what they want,” and glances at Mat before tuning out of the conversation. 

Mat should probably tell Tito about the Ebs thing, but he figures that’s a conversation that they can have after ice cream. 

The place they end up going is probably the most expensive ice cream place Mat’s ever been to, which is saying a lot, because Mat’s gotten hip New York City ice cream. This place seems worth the money, though, and Tito was apparently serious about paying. It makes Mat feel warmer inside than he expected, because it’s not like they don’t have the money, but still. It’s a dumb gesture that carries weight, and Mat’s suddenly jealous that Tito gets to pay. He’s pretty excited at the prospect of getting to buy things for Tito, just because he can. 

“Why’d you wanna get ice cream, anyway?” Mat asks. “Not that I’m complaining, but.” 

“I mean, it was this, or like, coffee or drinks? This seemed… I dunno, special,” Tito says.

“You wanted to do something special for me?” Mat says, kind of teasing, and Tito rolls his eyes.

“You can’t make fun of me for wanting to take you out while you’re eating ice cream I paid for,” Tito says. “Anyway, yeah, and I wanted our first date to be in Montreal.” 

It hits Mat, a little unexpectedly. “Our first date,” he echoes, which—yeah, that’s what this is, but it’s weird, hearing the word out loud. 

Not bad-weird, just—unfamiliar. Kind of exciting, though.

“Dude, if you’re choosing now to have cold feet—” Tito starts, and Mat realizes he’s been staring at the ice cream cone in Tito’s hands for a while. 

“I’m not,” Mat says. “Just adjusting, that’s all.” 

“Adjusting?” Tito asks. 

Mat shrugs. “I mean, I’ve never really been on a date before?”

“It’s not that different from just hanging out,” Tito says. 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous,” Mat says.

“You’re nervous?” Tito says, grinning a little. “About me?” 

He makes it sound like a joke, like the idea of Mat being nervous about him is ridiculous, even though Mat has very good reason to be nervous, because Tito could feasibly break his heart. That’s a lot of power for Tito to have, and that’s a lot of pain that Mat is risking with this, and even with the other bullshit aside, Mat made the decision to give up something that felt safe and turn it into something that could hurt. 

But then Tito takes a bite and ends up getting ice cream on his nose, and Mat thinks,  _ eh, it’s worth it. _

“Give me a few minutes, I’ll be back to normal soon,” Mat says, leaning back in his chair so he can watch the way Tito laughs, and he tries to commit it to memory, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way he looks down and then back up again, the way every muscle in his face seems to smile. 

Honestly, Mat’s not nervous; he’s fucking terrified. 

In a good way, though. 

Here’s the thing: Mat’s been trying to make good decisions lately, but really, he hasn’t gotten where he is by playing it safe. 

The key to success is taking the right risks. 

(In Mat’s opinion, Tito is the perfect risk.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all who read this as i posted it, i hope the suspense was worth it!
> 
>    
>  **bonus content:**
> 
>    
> -if this story was told from tito's point of view, there would be a lot more josh ho-sang in it. he's a very good guy to talk to (using carefully gender neutral language) about confusing things you may or may not be doing with your teammate. and what happens in bridgeport, stays in bridgeport (jk they just kissed one time that's it) (mat's very slightly incredibly jealous. whatever.) 
> 
> -ebs: *offers mat advice*  
> mat: uh i don't take advice from straight people  
> ebs: surprise bitch 
> 
> -back in the day, mat was always a little more attached to chabby than chabby was to him. chabby kinda realized it, and he felt maybe a little bad about it, but he also kept hooking up with mat, and it's not like they were actually anything, so? maybe chabby didn't do anything wrong? he still feels bad about it, but he's also a little jealous of mat and tito, because he also totally wants what they have. he just. didn't, back when mat was almost an option. (not that mat was ever a real option? they've always lived far away, and chabby really didn't want a whole Thing with mat. he just wants that in general, now.)  
> tl;dr: it was a confusing situation all around. still is.  
> there are a few threads in the comments where i ramble about this some more, and i have lots of feelings n thoughts on this~ 
> 
> -don't ask why i felt so compelled to drag jake virtanen's appearance, i just was, okay. 
> 
> -oh also i should've prolly put this at the start but this does follow real timelines and schedules. i've got those things near-memorized. i've watched mat's first goal so many times. i've also watched the video of him inventing secondary assists by skating around all of the ottawa senators so many times. i've also watched all the mat/tito goals. so. many. times. and remember when mat was on the ice for like. 7 seconds of overtime before scoring that gwg? i love him, wow. 
> 
> -i've watched so much content centered around the long island marriott. there's a video of tito at 2016 rookie camp that's filmed there, and it truly does seem to be the most depressing hotel in the universe, right in the parking lot of the coliseum. someone snapped me a picture of it when they passed it recently, because they apparently associate it with me now. this might be my most shameful legacy. 
> 
> -unfortunately mat apparently did spend 8 weeks living at a hotel to start the season. poor kid :( 
> 
> -in case you didn't know, mat's living with the seidenbergs and has said that the kids "keep him on his toes" (and also that dennis seidenberg could probably eat him? for some reason?) please, if you love mat barzal and yourself, watch "beginnings: mat barzal" it's so important. 
> 
> -i don't know if tito is actually rooming with alan quine? i'm like 60% sure he lives on long island but like that's all based on speculation. i just know that he and quiner are buddies (and make lots of jokes about dating each other on insta), and a while ago i was brainstorming his possible living situations with a friend (after it came out that mat was living with the seidenbergs) and we determined that he would likely be living with one of the other guys on the team? 
> 
> -just putting this here, because some people will probably want to know: i think the guys on the team come to their own conclusions about mat and tito once it's clear that it's a thing. the older guys noticed when they weren't really talking, but mat's very good at keeping his private crap private so he can avoid people intervening. but like, tito's kind of possessive, and mat's really bad at hiding it when he's super happy, and once they start, like, being a little more purposefully obvious, i think they realize what's up ("wait, are they?" "i think so." "oh." "i mean, good for them?" "yeah, totally.")
> 
> -i have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this 'verse, so please ask me questions if you have any i will never want to shut up about this fic ever i don't think

**Author's Note:**

> Story's finished, updates will happen every couple of days. I'm lottswrites on tumblr and lottslottslotts on twitter! 
> 
> General story warnings: coming out themes and some internalized homophobia, implied past relationships. All sex in the story is consensual, enjoyable, and happy, because these boys really do like each other an awful lot. If you have questions or anything you'd like to be warned for, shoot me a message and I'll be happy to clarify.
> 
> ETA (2/22/19): there is an [annotated version](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1InQb2rUpFoWocHFcDKQZ4KUmQTCopXqcrQdCdpNO7_c/edit?usp=sharing) of this story! Feel free to browse the comments and leave a few if you want :) Thank you so much for reading, everyone <3


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